Returning the Favour
by OptimisticLady
Summary: What happens to Katrina Jenkins when she helps out Sherlock Holmes? Her life goes spiralling into madness, of course. And the little game of favours begins. Sherlock/OC
1. A Brief Encounter

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, it belongs to the BBC.**

**I have a Sherlock fixation and I thought to myself "why not write a Sherlock fic?" I had a plot bunny for it, so I wrote it! I hope you enjoy it. :)**

**Warning, the beginning of this chapter has minor spoilers for the end of Series 2, Episode 1 if you haven't watched it yet.**

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><p>There was really nothing like playing the violin on a seemingly dull evening, Sherlock found. Playing the violin helped him think about various things. For instance, he had come to realise that yes, he might quite possibly 'be in love' with Irene Adler. He did prevent her from being beheaded, to some extent. Well, he was supposed to be the one to execute her, but it was a very lucky thing that she had text him to say goodbye and his phone made the dodgy 'oooohhh' sound.<p>

Of course, John had blantantly lied to him, telling him Irene had found a witness protection agency and it was all Sherlock could do, not telling him he knew he was lying. Playing the beginning of the blissful tune he had composed himself, Sherlock looked out the window, wondering what on earth everyone else could be doing in the new year. They wouldn't be doing anything as productive as he would be doing, naturally.

Sherlock stopped playing - he had thought of more of his tune and scribbled it down on the piece of sheet music before he could forget it. Not that he would, anyway, what with being Sherlock Holmes, the greatest consulting detective alive.

Feeling that he had had enough of playing the violin for the night, Sherlock went and grabbed his coat, pulling it on and heading out of his home for a late night stroll. He liked going out at night, he could blend in to everything much easier, seeing as he wore black an awful lot and he could survey things without getting interrupted.

He wasn't going anywhere in particular, he was just allowing his feet to take him around the streets nearest to Baker Street. Sherlock had been walking for about half an hour at the very least, finding nothing in his surroundings to keep him amused, when he heard a scream. It came from somewhere in front of him, but to his left.

Sherlock ran to the source of the noise - finally, something exciting! A scream came again, from the alleyway now directly to his left. He headed down it to find a young woman being pinned up against the wall of a house by a burly man with a knife.

Exciting, but not what Sherlock thought it might've been.

He had been expecting a body or two. Perhaps a little mutilated to cause those two screams? But instead was a woman about be either raped, murdered or both by the man.

Stepping into action, Sherlock looked around nearby for anything, _anything_ that could aid him. Nearest to him were a couple of bins and what looked like a broken shovel poking out of one of them. Grabbing the part which actually had the spade part on it, Sherlock ran quietly up to the man and whacked him over the head with it, however this didn't quite deter him.

Instead the man threw the woman to the ground and turned his attention to Sherlock, whose over-confidence seemed to falter. A little, not by much. Calculating his next move, Sherlock thumped him over the head once more before kicking him in the chest, causing the man to fall down and hit head on the ground hard enough to knock him unconscious for the time being.

He hurried over to the woman on the ground, who was cradling her wrist.

"S-s-shouldn't w-we call t-t-the p-police?" she managed to get out, looking at the unconscious man on the ground. Sherlock looked in the same direction.

"Judging by where I hit him on the head and his fall on the ground, he should have no recollection of the incident so it would be pointless to call the police," Sherlock stated bluntly. The woman looked at him, eyes wide in shock, however Sherlock dismissed this and helped her up, taking off his coat and handing it to her.

"T-thank you," she said, putting her arm through one of the sleeves, keeping her other arm close to her body, but holding the coat closed around it. "What's your name?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. And you are?"

"Katrina Jenkins," she mumbled in response. Sherlock then started walking away, out of the alleyway. "Hey! Where are you going?"

"You're supposed to come with me, walking right beside me," Sherlock stopped and turned to face her. "Or would you rather wait here?"

Katrina hurried up to Sherlock and he started to walk out onto the street.

"Tell me, Katrina, what were you doing down there?"

"I was taking a shortcut home... where are we going?"

"You're injured and my... friend is a doctor."

"I'm not that injured."

"You're cradling your right wrist under that coat, there's a cut on your shoulder and quite frankly, you should break up with your current boyfriend if that bruise on your forehead is anything to come by."

"I'm sorry what?" she looked slightly offended, feeling the bruise underneath her side fringe.

"I just told you, I'm a consulting detective. That means I pay attention detail."

"You missed out one though - I walked into him and we banged heads. Also that was earlier today, that happened," Katrina then thought about something. "You come across as a psychopath to me."

"No, I'm a high functioning sociopath."

"Yeah, _sure_," she drew out the 'sure,' not quite believing Sherlock.

"There is a difference."

"I know, it's just..."

"A lot to take in? I seem to have that effect on people. And they usually tell me to 'piss off' within the first two minutes of meeting me, so a little surprised you didn't you tell me to do so when I mentioned the bruise on your forehead. Then again I did just save your life and you're currently feeling frightened, hence all the questions."

Katrina was lost for words.

"Where are we going?"

"Oh we're nearly there. I told you, my friend is a doctor."

They turned onto Baker Street and Sherlock quickened his pace to get to the front door of 221B, opening it and allowing Katrina to step inside first, before entering himself. He closed the door and then held out his hand to Katrina. She looked confused and Sherlock sighed.

"The coat. I need my coat back, since I will be going to use at some point in the near future."

"Oh... oh yes," Katrina took off the coat carefully and handed it to Sherlock, who hung it up on the coat peg by the door.

"You're not a psychopath-"

"High-functioning sociopath like I already told you, do pay attention."

"No, you're just rude," she saidm following him up the stairs and into the living room of 221B.

"And you're vaguely Northern. Chesterfield? Now go and sit down... John?" Sherlock called out. There was no answer. "Not back yet... there should be a first aid kit around here somewhere," Sherlock went scrounging around the kitchen for one, as Katrina sat herself down on one of hte armchairs, feeling a little awkward.

"You've never done this before, have you?" she questioned the man in the kitchen. "Helped someone out?"

"Can't say I have, no. This is quite exciting for me!"

"I was nearly murdered..." Katrina frowned. "How is this exciting?"

"Technically you were nearly raped and murdered. And it's exciting for me because I was _extremely_ bored."

Katrina paled as Sherlock came over to her with a first aid kit.

"Oh. Oh that's um... _how did you know he was going to rape me_?"

"It's a matter of observation and how he was acting," he murmured in response. "Hand."

"Because that makes me feel more relieved," Katrina said sarcastically as she held out her right hand carefully, Sherlock beginning to wrap a bandage around it, a little sloppily at that too. "You really haven't done this before."

"No, of _course_ not, I am-"

"A consulting detective, not a doctor. Yes. I get it. You don't need to keep reminding me."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her and then footsteps could be heard on the stairs, John coming in a few moments later, stopping short at the sight before him. He looked between the pair who were looking at him, and then he spoke.

"Sherlock?"

"Katrina Jenkins," Sherlock nodded at the woman.

"You must be John the doctor then," Katrina said.

"Yes, I am John the doctor. John Watson," he came over to them, giving Sherlock a look. Sherlock then moved away, allowing John to tend to Katrina.

"Hang on, Dr. John Watson?" she then looked at Sherlock. "Oh! So you're _that_ Sherlock Holmes. I've read your blog," she turned back to John. "It's very interesting, actually, although your hits counter has frozen."

John gave Sherlock a smug look, and in return received a scowl.

"Thank you, Katrina," he said, finishing with the bandages on her wrist. "How do you feel about stitches? That cut on your shoulder looks nasty..."

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><p>Not long after, Katrina had (in addition to the bandage around her wrist) several stitches in her shoulder and was holding some ice in a cloth to her forehead, John setting down a cup of tea on the table in front of her. She thanked him and then looked around the room, her eyes stopping on the mantelpiece.<p>

"There's a skull on there."

"Hmm? Yes, that's always been there," said John, sitting down in the chair opposite her.

"It's an old friend of mine," came Sherlock's voice from the kitchen. He was currently getting something out of the fridge. Katrina put down the ice on the table and picked up her mug of tea, taking a long gulp from it, looking at what Sherlock had put on the kitchen counter top.

A bag of fingers.

Katrina barely managed to swallow her tea.

"T-those are f-fingers," she said.

"Very good observation," Sherlock replied, sarcastically, taking out a finger and sniffing it. He then looked at Katrina. "Ah, John, take her to the bathroom."

"N-no, I'll be fine... just..." she sighed and stood up. "I need to get home, but thank you, the both of you for doing this. If there is any way I could return the favor, then I will do, whenever I can."

"That won't be necessary," Sherlock gave a wry smile.

"It is," Katrina insisted. "I should be going now."

"I call you a cab," said John.

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><p><strong>How did I do writing Sherlock? I found he was quite hard to write, actually!<strong>

**Livvyxxx**


	2. The Diamond Girl: Encounters

**Disclaimer: Sherlock ain't mine :P**

**So mixed reviews on how I wrote Sherlock. Some thought I wrote him well, others thought that he wasn't "Sherlocky" enough. But, I'm gonna think about the reviews that said I wrote him really well! Thank you for sympathising with me, he is a VERY hard man to write, being all sociopathic and whatnot :P **

**Thanks again to those who said I wrote him very well - it made me so happy! ^_^**

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><p>It had been about a week or slightly more since Katrina had her first encounter with Sherlock Holmes, and little did she know that her next encounter with him would change a lot in her life. So there she was, sitting in a quaint cafe on a rainy Saturday afternoon, thinking about how her week had gone - to Katrina, it had gone quite well. She had managed to get a new job as a PA, which paid better than her previous job, as well as breaking up with her boyfriend, because he wasn't really doing it for her anymore.<p>

Sighing contently and in slight boredness, Katrina look at her hand which was still in the bandage. She wondered what it would be like in the shoes of Sherlock. _Probably not comfortable, his feet are definitely bigger than mine_, she thought to herself, smiling a bit.

Taking a sip of her tea, Katrina looked out of the window and spotted a familiar face.

Sherlock Holmes.

Katrina considered going there and saying hello, but he appeared to be in a bit of a hurry. He was a consulting detective, so she assumed that he was most likely working on a case. She was also surprised to see that John wasn't there with him, as he usually might be, judging by his blog.

Curious about what Sherlock _might_ be up to and whether it was in the newspapers or not (it most likely was) she picked up a newspaper which had been left on an empty chair next to her. Katrina looked at the front cover to be told about a serial killer in London, murdering people in a similar way to Jack the Ripper had done.

She put down the newspaper, thinking that there were _always_ serial killers in London.

Draining the last of her tea, Katrina got up and left the cafe, putting up her umbrella as she walked back home, seeing as she did not want to spend money on a cab when it wasn't that far away. Rain was something easily dealt with.

She had been walking for about fifteen minutes, getting nearer to the block of flats she lived in, when the next thing she knew, somone came tumbling down the steps from a house she was just about to walk past. The person then hit the lamp post with a resounding _clang_.

Katrina hurried over to the person now huddled and groaning at the lamp post, trying to get up, and immediately she realised who this person was, now she was standing right next to him. It was Sherlock, again.

He was still trying and failing to get up, so in the end (instead of getting out her phone and filming this strange sight) Katrina put away her umbrella, helped him up, and pulled his arm around her shoulder so as to help him walk.

"No! I can walk by myself!" Sherlock said indignantly, pulling his arm away from Katrina, trying to walk and then just falling flat on his face again. He lay there for a moment or so. "This is interesting, I never noticed how many cracks there could be on the ground before."

"You complete idiot!" Katrina cried out, helping him up again and keeping a firm hold on him, carried on walking in the direction of her flats again. "How can you not feel pain?"

"My mind has no time for pain..." his words were becoming slurred.

"I think you have a concussion."

"Of _course_ I have a concussion! I hit my head on a lamp post! Oh this is _most_ intriguing," Sherlock's words were even worse this time, so it was a miracle Katrina even understood what he had said. The look in his eyes showed how excited he was to have hit his head on a lamp post, yet his facial expression itself remained as it always did: poker-faced.

By the time they had reached the block of flats, Sherlock was halfway to the land of unconsciousness, so it was lucky that for once the elevators were working, so Katrina took that to the fourth floor where her flat was. By the time they had reached the fourth floor, Sherlock was doing his best to keep his eyes open.

It was a little awkward for Katrina to open her flat door, but she managed it, went inside and pretty much dumping Sherlock on the sofa before closing the door. He fell on his side and stayed like that for a moment or so with his eyes closed before Katrina hauled him up and made him sit straight. Then she managed to get a proper look at him.

A bruised and cut lip, a black eye, a lump on his forehead and quite possibly other places where he was injured - after all, he was thrown down some concrete steps.

"What happened to you?"

He didn't respond, but just simply blinked.

"Why is do my ribs feel much bigger than they should do?"

"Do you _ever_ listen? Even when you're not talking nonsense?" Katrina went into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with a bowl of ice, a few plastic bags and some cloths. She looked over at the sofa and saw that Sherlock had promptly passed out in his short abscence.

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><p><em>"Well you're evidently not in charge," put the consulting detective bluntly. "Because why would three blundering idiots like you be in charge? And of course murder all those people in the style of Jack the Ripper... who's in charge?"<em>

_There came no answer, but the three men just looked at Sherlock angrily._

_"Still not you? Oh how disappointing..." the three men started to come towards him. "How about I just come back later with a friend or two of mine?"_

_Sherlock started walking backwards towards the door only to find himself get grabbed by the men and hit in the face. Several times. Sherlock could still anticipate their next moves but unfortunately since there were three of them around him, fighting back was harder._

_In the end, he was kicked out of the door and sent tumbling down the steps to hit his head on a lamp post._

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><p>Sherlock woke up with a start, instantly calling for John, only to find a brunette coming to his assistance. He sat up, momentarily confused about why John wasn't there and how he had managed to get onto soft, comfortable bed.<p>

"John's not here. Do you remember how you got here?" the brunette said to him. Sherlock didn't respond but just merely looked at her.

_Puffy eyes, hasn't been sleeping well. Frizzy hair, I'd say about fifteen minutes walking in the rain with an umbrella that rendered useless because of the wind direction. Red hands, has handled something heavy and then something cold. Right hand still in bandage, probably worsened by the heavy object she had to carry. Worried expression because I'm not responding to her and she's wondering whether I'm still..._

Then Sherlock remembered how he got there.

_I was definitely trying to be myself with that concussion. Probably made Katrina irritated. And the heavy object was me._

Sherlock gave a quick smile at Katrina who sighed with relief.

"You've been out for a few hours, I was beginning to wonder whether..."

"Me? Die? No. That's too boring."

"Is that all you think about?" Katrina got up away from his bedside and went and sat on her desk. "Whether something is amazing or boring, as you have overly used? Do you not consider emotions?"

"I have no time for emotions," Sherlock started getting off the bed Katrina jumped up and pushed him back down.

"You are not going anywhere until you're the least bit better."

"But I feel fine!" Sherlock complained. He tried to struggle against Katrina who was pinning him down on the bed, quite strongly at that too. "Let. Me. Go!"

"No. If you keep struggling you're going to make your injury worse. You nearly got a fractured rib, why do you think your chest is swollen so much?"

At her words Sherlock looked down at his open-shirted state and then smirked as he looked back at Katrina. She just simply rolled her eyes at him as she went and perched herself back on her desk again.

"Look, I'm not a doctor, but I tried the best I could."

"I can tell you did. Several make-shift ice packs shows _effort_."

"Was that sarcasm?"

"No."

"I guess no-one can tell with you, then."

There was silence in the room.

"Katrina, why did you help me?" Sherlock said, sitting up once more and buttoning up his shirt.

"I told you, I owed you a favour for helping _me._"

Sherlock grumbled and put his head in his hands.

"You chose the wrong time to help me though," he said through gritted teeth. "If you see a person falling down some steps, just _move on_. Don't stop to help."

"What?" Katrina was confused.

"By helping me at this current moment, your life has been put in danger."

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><p><strong>Dun dun DUUUUNN! I have a feeling the next chapter is going to be very fun indeed ;)<strong>

**Opinions on Sherlock once again? Oh and Katrina, as well, I guess... :P XD**

**Livvyxxx**


	3. The Diamond Girl: Roofs

**Disclaimer: Hmmm, nope! Don't own it.**

**Hello again people XD I hope you like this chapter... it took me a while to write because I was trying to put together the mystery/crime thing. Overall, it's not that complicated... it's good though! One of the best mysteries I have come up with for a story, actually, in my opinion.**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

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><p>Katrina glared hard at Sherlock.<p>

"What did you just say?"

"Your life is in danger."

In response to this, she breathed in deeply before jumping off of the desk and pacing about in front of the bed, Sherlock sitting and watching her with an eyebrow raised.

"You mean to tell me that I saved your bloody life and in return, my gets put in danger?" she pretty much shouted at him as she placed.

"Yes," he replied in his velvety, montone voice. "If you hadn't cared about what had happened to me, you wouldn't be in this situation."

This really made Katrina angrier than she already had been. It looked as she she could punch Sherlock. That is exactly what she attempted to do. Katrina was about to leap over the foot of the bed and pummel Sherlock, but instead he too jumped up and grabbed her arms, causing them to be in a tense struggle for power.

"So it's my fault now?" she growled at him. "You're the one who got tossed out of a house onto the street like a rag doll!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her.

"Caring again. That only gets in the way, I find."

"You're an emotionless bastard!"

"You need to control your short temper. You don't want to be hurting me anymore than I already am," he added smugly.

At that, Katrina stopped struggling against Sherlock and he let go of her arms. He then crouched on the bed whilst she just stood there, looking at him.

"I... yeah. I do."

"It's why you haven't been able to hold jobs or friends long-term."

"How did you get that one? Go on, dazzle me Mr Intellect."

"Your desk. It has too many CVs on it for one person. Each one longer than the last by a few sentences or two. Now, I am going to ask you a question."

"Go for it," Katrina leaned against the bed post.

"Can you tell me who live across the street from you?" Sherlock nodded out the window that was situated in front of him. Katrina was abotu to turn around when he spoke again. "No, no, don't turn around and look. Just answer the question."

"Why?"

"Just answer the question and I shall tell you why," he gave her a cold stare.

"No-one that I know of. I think that place hasn't been habited for a while, actually."

"Right. Don't move until I say. There is a person in the window across the street, looking directly at us and he is holding a gun. Now, I told you your life was in danger by helping me out and this is an example of that; they followed you back here. They're going to kill you just to try and distract me from them for just a moment so they could get away and hide before I could solve the case and find out who is really behind it all."

"Right," Katrina's eyes were wide with shock. "I have an idea."

"It won't be a good one."

"I have a walk-in wardrobe to my left which can fit about two people in it. We could hide in there?"

Sherlock's eyes flickered to said wardrobe and then back at the window behind Katrina.

"Fine. It's not in sight of the window. Neither is the bedroom door. Now, when I say, hide in the wardrobe and I am going to go and make it look like you and I run from here before coming back to hide with you. Warning, he'll most likely come and search the flat but you must _not_ make a single sound. Is that clear?"

Katrina nodded vigorously.

"You seem to be alright for someone who was pretty much beaten up, I have to say, considering how you restrained me."

"I don't give myself away," responded Sherlock. "Now duck!"

He pushed her out of the way before rolling off the bed himself as the sounds of two gun shots and a shattering window filled the room. They were both on the floor and as Katrina commando crawled to the wardrobe, Sherlock managed to get up and run through the bedroom door, disappearing from view.

Katrina had managed to get into the wardrobe by this time. It was then she remembered something, and if Sherlock was right in saying that the man would have a snoop, then she had to have it with her. Quickly, she darted out of the wardrobe and grabbed the smallish thing off of her desk before returning back inside the wardrobe, just as Sherlock got there and came inside with her, shutting out the light.

"What do you think you were playing at?" he hissed at her. "Why did you come back out?"

"I had to get something..." she mumbled in response, clutching the thing tighter.

"You could've been killed! Well, actually... not really. They were just tranquilisers."

Katrina rolled her eyes in the darkness and there was silence for a few moments.

"Hey... do you have a phone?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"Can I borrow it?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you talking loudly whilst a man comes looking through your apartment."

"I just need the light on it. I'm not calling someone or anything!" she hit him on the arm.

"Oh..." less than a minute later, an iPhone was shoved roughly into Katrina's hands.

She fumbled about with it and soon there was a small bright light about them. Sherlock blinekd a couple of times adjusting to it and then the next thing he knew it was down along the floor somewhere with Katrina.

The next thing he knew, he was being dragged down on the floor with her, and made to crawl through something - a gap in the wall? Either way, Katrina came through after him and then something was slid closed a light was then flicked on.

They were in a small room... off of her wardrobe? It was empty besides a couple of blankets, and it could barely fit about four or five people in it, so one would feel claustrophobic in this room.

"You alright?" she asked Sherlock.

"I'm perfectly fine, you can stop worrying about my injuries now _shh_!"

"Boy, nothing stops you, does it?" she mumbled under her breath.

"SHHH!"

She held up her hands in protest before being absolutely silent. For an hour. Sitting on the floor in a room in which she had no idea even existed until a couple of months ago. It was her secret room. Her hiding place. And now she had shared it with the most arrogant man in the world.

"Shh!"

"I didn't even say anything," she said through gritted teeth.

"You were thinking. But anyway, he's gone."

"Who?"

"Urgh, Katrina, the man who attempted to kill you because you were helping me? It must be so fun in your mind. Not a single intelligent-"

_Smack._

Sherlock was astounded at the fact that she had punched him in the face, very nearly breaking his nose.

"We could probably go out now," he ended up saying, clutching at his nose. "How long has this room been here anyway?"

"Ever since I moved here," she replied, sliding back the piece of wall that led into her wardrobe. "I didn't know about it for ages though. My friends found it when I had a bit of a do here once. Let's just say where you're sitting is where many things went down," she crawled back through the hole and into the wardrobe, Sherlock following close behind her. He was confused.

Once they were back in the light of her bedroom, he looked at her, closing the door to the wardrobe.

"Many things?"

Katrina blinked at him.

"Do you not know what I'm getting at?"

No answer.

"Sex, Sherlock, they had sex in the spot you were sitting in," she exited the bedroom and made her way down the hallway into a very trashed living room.

"They were looking for something..." said Sherlock. He slowly made his way around the living room, grimacing a little as he bent over to survey certain items whilst Katrina watched in wonder at what he was doing.

Then she remembered he was a consulting detective and of course was doing his job. He then came back over to her holding up her wallet and bag.

"They wanted to know who you were. And they left a message on the back of the sofa."

Katrina frowned and then walked round to the back of the sofa and read the message there:

_There's no use in playing hide and seek.._

"Well someone's out to get me now," she went and took her things off of Sherlock.

"Correct. And you apparently have something of theirs."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You. Have. Something. Of. Theirs," Sherlock grabbed Katrina's coat and tossed it to her before taking his and putting it on. After seeing what he was doing, Katrina followed suit. "This is why you shouldn't have helped me out."

"I'm stuck in the middle of it all now but I had something of theirs anyway so it was a matter of time, wasn't it?" she followed him out of the front door before hastily locking it behind her. Before Sherlock could go any further, Katrina stopped him. "Great idea of yours, wasn't it? Leaving the door open? So he could could come in and leave a message for me?"

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes.

"Look, Katrina, I did that for my own benefit, to find out what's going on. I lied when I said it was to make it look like we had ran. But you need to understand this: there's only one person behind it all. They've hired someone to create all the 'Ripper' killings that have occured so far and they are _linked_, as well as the fact allowed this hired person to have his own people doing things for the higher power."

"Right, so it's like a king has got a knight who's got his own slaves?"

"Rubbish simile, but yes. And the king has ordered his knight and the slaves to come and get you. You've obviously had dealings with the king before. Or maybe someone in your family."

There was a moments silence between the two of the them.

"The message said 'there's no use in playing hide and seek,'" Katrina eventually said. "They're not going to stop are they?"

"Of course not. Like I said, you or someone in your family has had a run in with the king. They'll be tracked next, I'm sure. Do you have any family in London?"

"Just my parents..."

"Then they'll start tracking your parents. Now," Sherlock peered over Katrina's shoulder. "How do you feel about roofs?"

"Um... I'm not scared of heights. Why?"

"We're going to be needing it," without another word, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up the stairs just as some bullets landed in the wall where they had been standing next to.

"They were there the _whole time_ and you didn't think to mention it?" Katrina shouted at Sherlock as they both ran up towards the roof. She was behind him by a couple of steps, so he was sort of pulling her with him.

Unfortunately, the door to the roof was locked.

"Well come on then, Mr Roof!" Katrina started shoving against the door and then Sherlock joined in with her. It took about for or five bashes from each of them before the door burst open and they nearly fell flat on their faces.

They ran up the last remaining amount of steps and soon enough the cold air hit them. Sherlock stopped and let go of her head, scouring the area he could see around him. He then pointed to somewhere behind Katrina.

"Baker Street's that way. Come on!"

Sherlock ran at full speed and Katrina watched in awe as he jumped from the roof of the flat block they had been in to the next. Noticing that she hadn't followed, Sherlock called out to her.

"Katrina!"

"I'm not jumping across the rooftops!"

"Do you want to be caught?"

"No..."

"Then come _on_!" he was beginning to get very frustrated with her.

"What if I fall?"

"Oh for _god's sake_ you won't - I will _catch_ you right here, if that helps," he said in an irritated voice. "Now get moving!"

There came a shout from behind Katrina and she knew that she couldn't mess around any longer.

Running as fast as her legs would allow her, Katrina came closer and closer to the edge of the roof and then when she was right the edge, she jumped over the gap that seemed so wide and deep to her. The jump up and across was fine in itself - it was the descent that worried Katrina.

When she started falling down, everything seemed to slow, and she thought she would fall to her death. It didn't look like she was going to make it across. Closing her eyes tight, waiting for the fall to carry on longer than it should do, Katrina found herself in the arms of the high-functioning sociopath, having not fallen to her death.

"I guess that did help," she mumbled as Sherlock took hold of her once more. The pair of them jumped over at least ten or eleven rooftops (this time together) in their return to Baker Street.

When they landed on the roof of 221b, they had to be careful not slide down too fast, since it was a normal roof, one that which someone could not stand on properly. There was an open window in 221b and they made their way down towards it, Sherlock going in first and then pulling in Katrina (who was dangling from the guttering) after him.

They both turned to face a stunned John - the window had been to his bedroom.

"John, you remember Katrina Jenkins?"

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><p><strong>Did you like the idea of the little room off of her wardrobe? It was inspired by a story I read on here, actually XD And also did you like the "let's return to Baker Stree via the roofs of many places" thing? Jumping across roofs is very Sherlock I think... *cough*A Study in Pink cab chase*cough*<strong>

**Livvyxxx**


	4. The Diamond Girl: Notes

**Disclaimer: *Gets out violin***

**So, here's another update. Which involves a crime scene, Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan... ahh yes, the joys of Anderson :') NOT. ¬_¬ He's annoying.**

**Read on!**

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><p>A few minutes later, they were in the living room, Katrina having just explained everything to John because Sherlock was too busy thinking about how it all connected together. John was still trying to process everything, and once he had, said only one thing:<p>

"Katrina, would you like some tea?"

This threw her as well as Sherlock, whose head snapped in the direction of John.

"I'm sorry, what?" Katrina replied, a quizzical look on her face.

"Well, someone's clearly out to get you and I was wondering if you'd like tea to make you feel a little bit better."

"I'm... I'm fine, John, thanks for asking," Katrina then looked at Sherlock and shot him a look which read _what is he on _and the response to that look was a simple shrug.

Sherlock then got out his phone and looked at it, instantly jumping up off the sofa and grabbing his scarf and coat, putting them on again.

"John, Lestrade says they've found another one."

"Another one of the Ripper killings?"

"What do you think?"

"Right..." John went and got his coat too, pulling it on. They were about to leave when Katrina spoke up.

"Can I come? Seeing as I am somehow involved in all of this..." she said a little sheepishly.

Sherlock and John looked at each other for a moment.

"I don't see why you can't," Sherlock said before heading out of the door as quick as a flash, John following him and then Katrina hurrying to catch up with them whilst putting her coat back on in the process.

She nearly tripped down the front steps onto the street as she saw Sherlock hail a cab and the three of them climbed into it. He told the driver the street name and off they went.

The three adults were slightly squished all sitting next to each other in the back of the cab (especially John who was in the middle) so Katrina moved to the seat opposite them, allowing John to take her previous spot. Katrina sat staring out of the window, looking out at all the passing by buildings until she felt that someone was watching her.

She turned away from the window and saw, not to her surprise, that it was Sherlock staring at her. Not staring at her as such, but more like he was _observing_ her. Immediately she felt her face go a little warmer than it should and Sherlock smirked.

"I know you want to say it, but don't. Not whilst we're on our way to a crime scene," she said.

"That doesn't stop him," John pointed out.

"It's worth a shot though, isn't it?"

Sherlock looked as if he were about to say something but Katrina held up her finger.

"No."

"But you're-"

"Save it."

"Katrina-"

"Shut up."

"I am _this_ close."

"Urgh, you're so dull."

"How about the pair of you shut up?" suggested John.

Sherlock merely turned back to the window and Katrina shot John an apologetic look which he simply waved off. They were silent for the rest of the journey.

Once at the end of the destined street, Sherlock pretty much jumped out of the cab before it had stopped, leaving John and Katrina to pay for it.

After they got out, they hurried after Sherlock, who was currently at the crime scene, talking with some at the 'DO NOT CROSS' tap.

"Lestrade text me," Sherlock groaned at the woman with the dark, wild, curly hair. "He needs me this time because there's something different."

"Alright, freak," she held up the tape and allowed Sherlock and then John to pass under. She then noticed Katrina. "Oh god..."

"What?" Katrina frowned. "I'm with those two."

"Obviously. Who are you?"

"Involved in the situation," she responded, not liking this woman one bit. "And not by his doing," she gestured at Sherlock.

"Sergant Donovan, if you would," Sherlock aided Katrina. Begrudgingly, Donovan lifted up the tape and allowed Katrina to pass under.

The three of them then walked down the garden path and were met at the front door by an ugly looking man with black hair. He was wearing some form of blue overall.

"Don't even _think_ about contaminating the evidence," he drawled. "Not that there's much of it anyway."

Sherlock only just rolled his eyes.

"Anderson, shut up before you lower the IQ of the street. Again," with that he barged past the man, John and Katrina following. However Anderson put his arm in Katrina's way when she tried to get past him. He then inclined his head towards Sherlock.

"You can't just bring a girl here, you know!"

Before Sherlock could respond, Katrina spoke.

"I have a short temper and at the moment I feel like punching something," she gave Anderson a sickly sweet smile and he moved.

"Lestrade's upstairs," he then murmured.

"Anderson. The street's IQ," Sherlock called back over his shoulder as he went up the stairs. Katrina was restraining herself from laughing and then they were met by Lestrade outside the room which contained the latest victim. He sighed when he saw Katrina.

"Oh Lestrade, I don't want to have a similar sort of conversation for the _third_ time," Sherlock sighed. "This is Katrina Jenkins and she would have ended up involved in this one way or another."

"Oh? So _this_ is Katrina?"

"Yes..." said the aforementioned woman. "Why?"

"There's a note for you," Lestrade opened the door, Sherlock and John going in first followed by a slightly hesitant Katrina. Three things happened to her all in quick succession when she walked into that room.

The smell. That was the first thing that hit her. Even though the body was a recent one, most likely from about a couple of hours ago, the smell of blood was not inviting to the nose, and even Sherlock was having trouble trying to observe the body.

That was the second thing. The body. Almost like how Jack the Ripper would have killed someone, except perhaps there was more disembowelment and the fact that the eyes, fingers and ears were strewn about the room was obviously an addition into the original... 'style.' Seeing all this made her feel queasy. She didn't mind gore in films, but of course, this was different. Not to mention the fact she recognised the man who had been brutally killed.

This lead onto the third thing. She vomited into the bin in the corner. After this little occurance, she wiped her mouth and then stepped out of the room, closing the door to leave Sherlock and John to it. Luckily Lestrade was there with a mint.

"I think I know him," she said, chewing on the mint. "Well... I met him once. He was a friend of my dad's. His name was errr... Jack O'Neils."

Lestrade nodded, just as Sherlock and John came out of the room. They looked pale, but not as pale as Katrina had been.

"Well?" Lestrade questioned.

Sherlock wordlessly handed a piece of paper to Katrina, which had her full name on one side and then the note itself on the other side. Lestrade groaned.

"Sherlock... Anderson's not going to be happy."

"And I couldn't care any less. Besides, the man's name is Jack O'Neils which I could tell from the ID card he had in his pocket and as for a job he's recently been made redundant. As for the rest, he was far too mutilated. Although he was going through a divorce and was deaf in one ear. Katrina, you may want to look at the note."

Katrina then read what it said on the other side of the paper out loud.

"'_This is the only warning you're getting. Give it back or face the consequences._' Well that's enlightening," she added sarcastically.

"Is there anything you or your family may have had which whoever is doing this is looking for?" Lestrade asked her.

"Honestly? I wouldn't know," she sighed. "Sherlock can we go? The smell's lingering in my nose and I don't like it."

"I have to agree with Katrina on this one," said John.

"Yes, as do I," Sherlock then said. "Come on."

The four of them retreated back down the stairs and out of the house into the fresh air. They walked up to the police tap again where Donovan and Anderson were chatting.

"Did she actually? God, she'd need a better stomach than that if she's going to around him..." Katrina heard Donovan say to Anderson as they approached.

"Excuse me?" she replied. Anderson had had his back to her so was taken by surprise. He then promptly moved.

"Nothing..." said Donovan.

"Was he telling you that I was sick?"

"Oh please, I could hear it from the front door..." Anderson said.

"Shut up, Anderson, stop trying to impress Donovan you can go have your way with her later," said Sherlock, irritated.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Anderson and Sherlock then promptly got into an argument.

"So you're saying I'm feeble, then?" Katrina challenged Donovan.

"Seems like it. You shouldn't hang around with him."

"Why not?"

"Can't you tell? He gets off on it all. The bodies, the mystery... it's like his hobby. It _is_ his hobby. You should really stay away from him."

"You can't tell me what to do."

"I can tell you what's best for you."

"Since when can you tell me what's _best_ for me?" Katrina replied angrily. "I don't even know you and you're trying to make decisions for me."

"It's safer to stay away from him!"

Sherlock and Anderson had stopped their argument by this point and were now listening to Katrina and Donovan arguing, like John and Lestrade were. No one was attempting to stop it. They found it interesting that someone had finally challenged Donovan.

"I only just met him. Also, I was apparently involved in this from the start, so it was only a matter of time!"

"Oh you're just saying that to protect the freak, aren't you?"

* * *

><p>Apparently punching a police officer constituted as an offence and Katrina was soon handcuffed, being lead to a police car by Lestrade. Sherlock was walking with them and then spoke to Katrina before she was put inside.<p>

"Give me your bag."

"Why?"

"I believe you need a new window, it's five o'clock so they shouldn't be shut or too busy and I'll need the keys to get inside your flat."

"Just take the keys from inside my bag. They're in the front pocket."

Sherlock did so and then went back over to John who was currently tending to Donovan about her broken nose.

"Oh Sherlock!" Lestrade called to him. "Come and get her in the morning."

Katrina was then put inside the back of the police car. Lestrade went in the front with another policeman and then they drove off.

* * *

><p>Later that night, at around ten o'clock, Sherlock walked into the Met office and asked for Lestrade - more like demanded Lestrade. He was given his wish down came the grey haired man.<p>

"Sherlock?"

"Can't I pay bail for her to come out?"

"I told you to come and get her in the morning..."

"Lestrade... someone's trying to catch her attention and I don't think she wants to spend her night in a jail cell thinking about it. She'd be much more comfortable in her own home thinking about it."

"There I was thinking you were doing this to be nice..." Lestrade sighed. "Fine."

Sherlock payed Lestrade the bail and he went away, coming back a few moments later with Katrina, who was more than delighted to see the consulting detective.

"Thank you so much, Sherlock," she said to him, a big grin on her face. "Seriously, thanks. How much do I owe you for that and the window?"

"Don't bother," he said as they walked out of the Met. "Consider it another favour."

"Alright," she smirked.

"I have to say, thank you for punching Donovan."

"Umm... you're welcome?"

"To be completely honest here, I've been wanting to do it myself."

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><p><strong>Katrina punched Donovan and broke her nose. Your argument is invalid.<strong>

**Livvyxxx**


	5. The Diamond Girl: Mycroft

**Disclaimer: If I had a violin and knew how to play it, I would play it at 3am...**

**Dunno how long it's been since I last updated, but here! Have some chapter 5. In which I finally bring Mycroft into... yay, because we all love Mycroft. Well, sort of. I ship him with Lestrade. Mystrade FTW!**

**I also ship Johnlock, Mycake and Lestrudel. ^_^**

**Now, on with the story!**

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><p>About a week or so later, Katrina found herself sitting on a bench in Regent's Park, her coat discarded next to her - the day had turned out to be warm and sunny, so she was in no need for it at the moment. She usually found herself coming here at least once a week. Every Saturday to be precise. She jumped a little when a monotone voice spoke from behind her.<p>

"You forgot your coffee."

She turned to find Sherlock holding a takeaway cup which presumably had the aforementioned coffee in it. Quirking an eyebrow, she beckoned him to come and sit next to her, so she moved her coat to her lap. Sherlock then handed her the coffee and she took it, thanking him.

After a few moments of silence, Sherlock spoke up again, having noticed how Katrina was tapping one of her fingers on the bench and her foot on the ground in an agitated manor, as if she wanted to either go somewhere or was bursting to ask a questions. Sherlock knew it was the latter. Blindingly obvious.

"I think the phrase 'you're dying to know' is appropriate here, considering I just told you you forgot your coffee," he commented.

"Exactly," the tapping stopped. "I get this odd feeling that you've been following me."

"Oh no, I haven't been following you. My dear brother has."

Katrina turned to face Sherlock, her eyebrows raised.

"Your brother? You have a brother?"

"Well of course," Sherlock replied, bored.

"Right..." she shook her head. "So... why is he doing this?"

"He's been doing it for the past three and a half weeks, ever since you came into first contact with me. Mycroft tends to think of it as keeping tabs. If you ever get a phonecall or text saying to get into a black car that's pulled up next to you on the pavement, it's going to end up as him. Oh and if you're told to look at certain security cameras in the street, that will also be him. If you do ever happen to get into that sort of situation, please be sure to ask him how his diet's going, they always tend to fail and everytime I see him, he seems to have gained weight."

"I see..." Katrina felt uneasy at this - Sherlock's brother was keeping tabs on her and she felt a little more invaded. "This relates back to the coffee how?"

"Mycroft knows your little routines and he paid me a visit half an hour ago to see how I was getting on and how it was possible that I hadn't scared you off yet, but then I reminded him he should know about that considering he is the British government so therefore should know exactly why you have taken to me, as such."

"My little routines? The British government? Oh my god..." Katrina groaned, finally taking a sip from the coffee cup, to find to her surprise that it tasted exactly how she liked it. It was definitely black, and it definitely had two sugars.

"Yes, your little routines being that you always get a cup of coffee before coming here every Saturday and Mycroft says he's only a _minor_ position in British government but it _really_ doesn't come across like that. Now considering you did not go and get a coffee from that cafe you usually do and came straight here, something's on your mind and you either tell me what's on your mind or I look in your eyes, at your left hand, at your neck and then I shall tell you myself."

What spilled from Katrina's mouth was not human, nor was it comprehendible. Sherlock looked at her in amusement.

"I assume that's what could be called a verbal keyboard smash."

"John been teaching you about the language of the internet recently?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it teaching, but he is attempting to do so nonetheless. The more appropriate statement would be that I am learning the language of the internet."

Katrina gave a wry smile.

"I have know you for about three weeks... and you have not become any less of an annoying git."

"And yet you didn't tell me to piss off when I deduced you."

"I- well- I just-" Katrina sighed.

"Well?"

"It somewhat interested me."

"Of course it did. I'm an interesting person and nothing less."

"There you are on your high horse again," she drank some more of her coffee. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes at her words and chose to ignore them, as he did with most people.

"Are you doing anything today?" he then asked.

"Nothing. But what are you trying to ask me? I'm worried..."

"I was merely curious of what you planned to do today, but if you're not doing anything, then clearly you are going have a boring day," Sherlock gave a nod and then promptly stood up and began to walk off.

Katrina sat stunned for a few seconds, picked up her coat and then hurried after him, dropping her coffee into a nearby bin in the process.

"Sherlock - wait!" she ran after him. He was a fast walker and he did not slow down when she called after him. However he did eventually abruptly stop and turn to face Katrina, the end result being that she crashed into him, but he did not go off balance. Instead, Sherlock's hand immediately went to catch something that had fallen out of her coat pocket. He smirked.

"You carry a gun around with you?"

"Never hurts to be cautious, does it?" she replied, slipping her coat back on and taking the hand gun back from Sherlock and placing back in the inside pocket.

"No. However you might get into trouble, so maybe you should take to carrying some pepper spray instead."

For a moment or so, they pair of them stood there, glaring at each other and then Katrina's hand delved into the inside pocket of Sherlock's coat, pulling out a hand gun.

"Maybe you should take to carrying pepper spray as well. Wouldn't want the world's _greatest_ consulting detective getting into trouble now, would we?" she then pocketed his gun and Sherlock's eys widened.

"Give. It. Back," Sherlock growled.

"Not until you stop being a hypocrite."

Sherlock let out a noise of frustration before turning on his heels and walking away from Katrina again. She was quick enough to follow and keep up with him this time. They had come out of Regent's Park now and were nearing Baker Street.

"I won't stop being a hypocrite until you tell me what's on your mind, we've somehow come away from that topic, haven't we?"

"I saw a man that I knew lying dead and disembowelled in his own home, Sherlock, and it frightens me because it could be someone else who is closer to me next! Now if you would be so kind as to find out who the bloody killer is before he can do anything else, _let me know by text because your sociopathic tendencies are annoying me_!" she ended up shouting at him.

Sherlock turned suddenly and grabbed Katrina by the shoulders, giving her the coldest look he had ever given. Katrina gulped as she saw the look on his face and how full of anger his eyes were. But there was something else the stare told her.

"You... you honestly don't care..." she said, almost surprised.

"Will caring about what he could do to you make me work any faster?"

When Katrina didn't respond, Sherlock then took his gun back from her pocket and sauntered off into 221b. She looked up at the window and saw John looking out of it, frowning. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she then hurried on back to her block of flats.

She was barely halfway there when a black car pulled up on the street corner she was currently walking towards. Katrina sighed and carried on walking as if she hadn't noticed the car. Then as she came past it, her phone beeped and she took it out, looking at a new message from an unknown number.

_Get into the car, Miss Jenkins._

Katrina rolled her eyes and did as the text said, reluctantly getting into the back of the car. She was sitting next to a woman who was texting away on her Blackberry phone.

"Did you send that text?" Katrina asked her as the car pulled away from the pavement. The woman gave her a patronising look. "I take that as a no then..."

The journey carried on in silence, and then when the car started slowing down, Katrina was almost grateful for being at the destination, which seemed to be an abandoned warehouse. However she did not want to get out of the car for some strange reason, even if the person waiting on the other side was definitely Sherlock's brother.

"Well go on then," said the woman. Katrina then slowly opened the car door and got out, looking around for the person she was to meet.

Standing a substantial amount of metres in front of her, was a well-dressed, slightly tubby man leaning on an umbrella. He was giving her a strange sort of smile and then the pair of them walked closer to each other. Katrina stopped after she was a few metres away from the car, whereas the man kept going. She didn't want to be too close to him, so held up her hand when he was a bout ten feet away from her. He then stopped, thankfully.

"I assume you're Mycroft Holmes, then."

"I assume you had a slight argument with my brother," he drawled.

"You don't assume. You just _know_."

"Fair play. Miss Jenkins, why does my brother interest you so?"

"He saved my life and I owe him. He's also trying to... well, I wouldn't say _help_, but it appears I have unwillingly gotten myself into a mess. I, or someone in my family, apparently owes someone something. Sherlock's solving the case, because it involves the recent killings. Someone's trying to grab my attention."

"And you think being near my brother is going to make you safer? I can give you all the protection you need if it must-"

"No. I don't need protection. I just want the person who's after me to back off. Now, I believe it's my turn to ask a question: why did you bring me here?"

"My brother has made you aware of me, and so I thought it best that you might need to know my face and how to contact me."

Katrina gave him a look that said _really, I don't believe you._ Mycroft chuckled at her expression.

"Besides that then, you're going to be in a lot of contact with my brother. Since John Watson wouldn't do it, would you be willing to at least try and get information about him? I would pay you a _very_ reasonable fee."

"Cheers, but no thanks. Just because you caught me after an argument with Sherlock does not me I would be liable to swing your way, Mr Holmes. I thought you were _keeping an eye on me_ as well, so surely you would know of my temper?" she added on the end sarcastically. Mycroft was silent. Katrina grinned smugly. "Oh and how's the diet going?"

Mycroft glared, which only fueled Katrina's smugness even further.

"I bid you good day, sir, as I would like to go home."

With that, she walked off back to the car and got into it.

* * *

><p>Sherlock angrily slammed the door of 221b and stomped up the stairs into the living room, to see John looking out of the window. He then ripped off his coat and scarf, hurriedly hanging them up on the coat peg and then he stormed into his room.<p>

John turned perplexed as his flat mate did these things, and then wondered what on earth had happened between him and Katrina outside. A few moments later, Sherlock came back into the room having removed his blazer and put on his blue dressing gown, and he collapsed onto the sofa, facing towards the back of it and curling up slightly.

He was sulking.

"Sherlock?"

John was met with a grunt in response.

"What happened out there?"

"She tried to take my gun, John!"

"Anything else?" John sat in his armchair and pulled up his laptop, opening it and beginning to blog the conversation - he was finding this rather amusing: Sherlock had never sulked because of a _woman_ before.

"She doesn't understand about how my mind works."

"Oh believe me when I say that's normal..." John muttered as quietly as he could. Sherlock heard this however, and jumped up from the sofa, daggers in his eyes.

"Are you _blogging_ this?"

"Aren't you the one that says you'd be lost without your blogger?"

Sherlock then nonchalantly strutted over the coffee table, still sulky yet bored, and up to John, reading over his shoulder.

_Sulklock Holmes_

_It appears Sherlock has had a slight tiff with one of our clients, which involved her taking something rather precious to him and making him sulk. This particular person, who's life was saved by Sherlock _before_ the actual case itself, seems to have a slight fiery temper accoring to Sulklock. Not to mention he's also sulking because she doesn't understand how his mind works - interesting, because no one knows how his mind works._

Sherlock gritted his teeth and went over to the window, looking out of it.

"John... she cares too much! It's irritating. Dull. Boring. She cares that she might get killed."

"Sherlock..." John replied, exasperated. "You've got to remember that people care about things... and anyway, just the other day you were saying that Katrina was one the most_ interesting _women you have ever met, and how the case she's involved in is _very intriguing_ and that you want to find out why she has such a _blazing hot temper._"

Sherlock snorted and then John noticed something which made him smirk.

"Are you blushing?"

"Shut up, John."

"Oh my god... you actually _want_ her to be here, which is surprising considering you can just about cope with me..." John rolled his eyes, typing away at his blog. "Even though we're supposed to be helping her, you want her be involved, figuring it out too. Oh this... this is fantastic."

The pale pink colour that had slowly been creeping up Sherlock's neck suddenly vanished.

"Her mind has so much potential with the way she is..." Sherlock whispered, so that John didn't hear. He then spoke normally. "I see you've been working on your deducing skills."

"Nope. I just know how _emotions work_."

Sherlock resumed sulking on the sofa for the rest of the day.

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><p><strong>Did you like sulky and slightly embarrassed Sherlock there? ;)<strong>

**Review as per usual!**

**Livvyxxx**


	6. The Diamond Girl: Jim

**Disclaimer: Hahaha you seriously think I own Sherlock?**

**So I had fun writing this chapter... lots and lots of fun... mainly because of what goes down in it. :D Nothing bad! Just... entertaining...**

**This is also one of the slightly longer chapters I've written. I checked the word count and was like "okay..." XD**

**Read on!**

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><p>"John, for the last time, please just <em>shut up for a moment,<em>" Sherlock told his flatmate whilst pacing the room, evidently trying to think who could be so strange enough to actually imitate the style of Jack the Ripper.

"Sherlock..." John replied, exasperated. "There is someone out there, after Katrina's blood. We haven't really heard anything from in the past couple of days - who knows what could have happened? She could be tied up in her flat, or even in some abandoned place in the middle of the countryside for all we know..."

Sherlock collapsed onto the sofa, rolling his eyes.

"No one is after her blood. Someone is just trying to catch her attention with all these murders, considering the fact she had been left messages which were obviously _not_ from the murderer himself, but from someone else. You could consider that someone else as the boss. Besides John, Katrina has a blazing hot temper, so she could easily... _deal_ with anyone who dared cross the wrong side of her path."

"You're not insinuating that she _murder_ someone, are you?"

"What the- _no._ Honestly John, I really do wonder what goes through your mind sometimes. You forget I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Now for the seventh time, _shut up._"

He promptly began to sulk, pout and think at the same time. This led to John blogging about sulky Sherlock again, only this time including the fact he was pouting.

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><p>It was getting a little later on in the evening and Katrina was in need of a drink. It had taken a few days to cool down about Sulklock (she did rather enjoy John's blog) and get over her meeting with the non-dieting British Government (the cake was not helping him in any way whatsoever.) So of course, a drink was necessary.<p>

In the end, she found herself in Soho, which could turn out to be quite lively on some nights, but it was a Tuesday, so not much was going on. However she did spot the usual group of homosexuals that usually came every few Tuesdays. They sometimes came on Thursdays as well, but that was besides the point. Katrina headed across the road from them and headed into the bar that was there.

That particular bar was never quiet, even on week days. It was always packed, but Katrina didn't mind that, seeing as she didn't want to be in a quiet bar where the only people in there were herself, the bartender and some sleazy bloke who would be eyeing her up from the other end of the counter. This place was vibrant, and it had more of a club type atmosphere, which was why there were so many people there.

Despite it being a Tuesday, Katrina found it odd that so many people from various film studios (she had learnt this fact because one of them had once asked her if she was from some place called MPC and she had no idea what they were talking about but then learnt it was a film company.) In a way, she kind of knew a couple of them, considering they had taken a bit of interest in her afterwards, talking to her occasionally if she was by herself (as per usual) on a Friday and they were there as well.

Finding an empty seat at the counter, Katrina sat down and ordered herself a vodka. Or two. Three was an understatement. Four was it. They were all set down in front of her, but before she could even down one, Royston (one of the guys from the film company) came up and said a quick hello to her and asked her how she was. After a quick little chat he went away and it was then she discovered that it was one of the crew's birthday, hence why they were there on a Tuesday.

Katrina frowned a little, trying to remember the last time she had a do with friends. Thinking back, it had been a couple of years ago. Then she sort of... drifted away from them after going to find a new job. Again. She downed a shot after thinking about her temper. Growling, she then had her second one, wincing, and then someone next to her spoke.

"You surely aren't going to drink _all_ of those by yourself, are you?" the voice - a male's - was quite... high pitched for a man, and was that an Irish accent she detected? In spite of her self-wallowing, Katrina cracked a smile and looked at the man.

"Yep. I do this a lot."

"Well if you do this a lot, I hope you don't mind me doing this..." with a cheeky grin to match his tone, the man swiped one of her shots and downed it, pulling a face after he did so. He took the last one and after having that, grabbed one of the lime slices next to him and sucked on it. He winked at Katrina. Then as if on cue, the most appropriate song came on.

_When you came in, the air went out  
>And every shadow filled up with doubt<em>

"I'm Katrina," she held out her hand.

_I don't know who you think you are  
>But before the night is through<em>

"Jim Moriarty at your service," after taking the lime out of his mouth, he took her hand and instead of shaking it, placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

_I wanna do bad things with you_

"So Katrina..." Jim began. "What brings you to lively Soho this evening?"

"Hmmm... I guess a I needed a drink. It's been a hectic few days... weeks... for me..."

"Oh?" he ordered a few more vodkas as well as a cocktail for Katrina. "Care to share?"

"It's a kind of long story."

"Well, darling, I've got all night," he looked around and seemed to spot something. "How about we go and sit in that cosy corner over there?"

"Sounds good to me," Katrina agreed after looking where he was to a nice little corner booth. She helped Jim take their drinks over to it and soon they were sitting comfortably in close proximity of each other with Jim awaiting to her what she had to say.

"Tell me, dear, what has you so troubled enough to come and _attempt_ to get yourself drunk on a Tuesday night?"

Katrina giggled. He was so cheeky and he looked like a six-year-old who waw curious about what was in the top most cupboard of a kitchen.

"Did I say something funny?" he looked confused.

"No... you just... you're very..."

"What?"

"Adorable..." Katrina admitted, going slightly pink.

"Oh _you._ We haven't known each other that long and you're calling me adorable? _You're_ the adorable one here!" he chuckled.

"Honestly? I'm not. So... my life these past few weeks... I nearly ended up raped, was saved by a consulting detective and now someone's out after something of mine. It's been quite... distressing. But also a little exciting at the same time. I realise now I've needed an exciting life and in a strange, twisted way, I have that..." she took a fwe gulps of the cocktail like it was a milkshake whilst Jim downed another shot.

"What's a consulting detective?" he asked her.

"Who the _hell_ knows?" Katrina shrugged, laughing. "I think it's something like the police go to if they're um... how was it described on the blog? Out of their depth, or something _weird_ like that. Apparently he's the only one in the world."

"Oh... hang on... are you talking about Sherlock Holmes?"

Katrina cocked her head to the side.

"Yes... I am. Have you met him?"

"Briefly. He's nice, don't you think?"

Katrina nearly spat out her shot.

"God no! He's an arrogant twat who doesn't care about anything or anyone and to be honest, he is the reason I'm sitting here talking to you and drinking the night a-"

Jim placed a finger on her lips and smiled.

"My dear, I think I can understand where you're coming from."

Then he took his finger away from her lips and then picked up a shot.

"To arrogant twats," he said. Katrina held up a shot as well.

"Who are consulting detective," she giggled even though it wasn't necessary - a clear sign that she was tipsy. They both drank the shots and any others that remained on the table, with Jim helping to finish off the cocktail.

"I should... really..." Katrina attempted to say. Words were escaping her and she couldn't string sentences together properly.

"_Sssssstaaaayy_... please?" Jim looked at her with his big brown eyes and she couldn't help but melt a little on the inside. He had also taken her hands as he said this.

Then somehow, neither of them knowing why, they leaned in towards each other and kissed.

* * *

><p>"That's it John. We're going to go and look for her if it means you'll be quiet!" Sherlock got up from the sofa and put on his coat and scarf, John doing the same thing.<p>

"I'm going to ignore that last comment of yours," he muttered as they left 221b and out onto the street.

"John you are aware that she was quite... pissed off... with me a few days ago, hence why she does not want to be near here at all? Yet she's probably wanting to be near here at the same time?"

"And that means?"

"Soho."

John still had no clue what Sherlock meant, but when they got there, he finally understood. He had momentarily forgotten that there were various bars, clubs, pubs and restaurants in Soho. Sherlock's plan was to go and look through every single one of the places until they found her.

"Text me if you find her."

"Why, Sherlock, she'll most likely be drunk."

"Yes... I know... that is why if you find her, you should text me."

"Again, why?"

"I think you'll need an extra pair of hands."

With those final words, Sherlock had disappeared amongst the crowds. John rolled his eyes and began to make his way around each place where one could get a drink. It was only then he realised that he felt like having a drink as well, but he had to search for Katrina.

It was taking a while and at one stage he even bumped into Sherlock in one of the pubs, neither of them having found her. Just as John was deciding to give up and text Sherlock to tell him that Katrina was most likely at home, he walked into one more bar and looked around.

The sight in the corner made his blood run cold.

Jim Moriarty had his hands all over Katrina.

And she had her hands all over.

They were hungrily snogging, although to John it seemed like Jim was trying to eat her face off. Then again, there were many empty shot glasses on the table, and a cocktail glass. This was not something to text Sherlock about. He had to call him.

He got out his phone and found Sherlock's number, putting it to his ear. The sociopath picked up instantly.

_"What? I said _text,_ not call."_

"Yeah well... you have to get here right now. You're not going to like this."

_"Where are you?"_

"I'm in the bar that goes onto Greek Street."

_"I'm coming."_

Sherlock hung up and John put his phone away, waiting by the door for his friend to arrive. He didn't have to wait long, for Sherlock was there within two minutes.

"What's wrong? You could have text me."

John simply pointed into the corner, looking at Sherlock, awaiting his reaction. The reaction was Sherlock striding over, a slight smile on his face.

"Oh god..." John groaned, following him - nice, friendly Sherlock was about to come out and play.

"Oh Katrina..." Sherlock cooed in his 'human' voice as John had come to call it, when approaching the couple in the corner.

Instantly, she and Jim broke apart.

"Hey _Shurlawk..._" Katrina said.

"Sherlock Holmes," Jim said in awe. "This is... the second... time..."

"Yes, it is the second time you've met me. Jim, wasn't it?" Sherlock continued in the eerily pleasant manor.

"You got it. And urrr..." Jim looked at John.

"I'm John."

"Oh... okay."

"We've come to take Katrina home. A certain someone has been worrying about her, thank you for, ahh looking after her. John," Sherlock nodded towards Katrina and then John came and helped him lift the woman from the seat. Jim didn't look at all fazed by this and as the two other men practically dragged Katrina from the bar, he simply called out:

"Call me!"

Then they were gone and out in the open, where Sherlock had one of her arms around his shoulder and John had done the same thing.

"What do you think you were playing at?" Sherlock growled.

"Jim's nicccee..." she slurred in response. The two men wondered how much she had had to drink, so they hailed down a cab to get back to Baker Street. Despite their helping her to try and walk, Katrina wasn't doing much walking. She was more or less just allowing herself to be dragged by them as well as giggling in the process.

"No, he's really not..." John sighed after they got in the cab.

"He was nice to meeee," she then giggled and leaned into Sherlock, hugging him in the process. "Why you no hug me back Sherlock?" she looked up at him and pouted.

"You are very drunk, Katrina," Sherlock simply responded.

"You draaaagged me away from Jim. The leassstt I could get is a _huuuug_..."

John was sitting there, trying not to laugh at Sherlock's face.

Awkwardly - very awkwardly - Sherlock put one of his arms around Katrina (very lightly) and she snuggled into him even further.

"You smell of liiiiimes..." she commented.

By this point, John had his phone out and was taking a picture of this sight. He then promptly text Lestrade.

_Katrina's drunk and is hugging Sherlock._

_All I can say is, he's not looking particularly happy._

_-JW_

Smirking, he attached the picture and sent the text. A minute or so later, he received reply.

_This could be useful if we ever had to blackmail Sherlock._

_-GL_

John looked at Sherlock who was currently frowning at Katrina, who was continuing to make her strange comments and giggle profusely every few seconds. He evidently wanted to get out of the cab at this very instant.

Luckily for Sherlock, they soon arrived at 221b, and he pulled Katrina out of the car, leaving John to pay for the fare. He ended up carrying her through the front door and up the stairs, into the living room and through the kitchen to his bedroom, where he ungracefully placed her on the bed.

"Coat," Sherlock simply said. Katrina struggled to get her coat off, so he had to help her. He also had to help her take off her shoes.

"Whatcha dooooin'?"

"Helping you get your coat and shoes off. I'm putting them at the end of the bed, alright? Get some sleep you silly woman."

"Sleep?"

"Yes. Sleep. Now shut your eyes and I'll be going to turn the light out and leave you to _sleep_."

"Mm'kay Sherly."

Sherlock's jaw clenched as he turned away from Katrina and exited his room, turning out the light and closing the door in the process. He went back into the living room and took off his coat and scarf before collapsing into the armchair opposite John.

"She called me _Sherly._"

"Well she _is_ drunk," John pointed out the obvious.

"Jim was obviously playing 'Jim from IT' tonight," he blatantly ignored John's comment.

"Sherlock... we'll talk to her in the morning about this. We'll tell her what Jim really is, alright? I need to go and get some sleep myself..." John got up and stretched.

"Sleep," Sherlock scoffed. "It only stops you from completing important things."

"Good night, Sherlock," John rolled his eyes as he exited the living room and headed upstairs, leaving Sherlock to brood.

* * *

><p>When Katrina woke up in the morning, her head was pounding. Badly. Looking around, she found that she was in an unfamiliar room and was wondering who it belonged to. There was no one next to her on the bed, but there was a periodic table on the wall... rolling onto her side, she noticed the smell of the other pillow which she hadn't been using as her own - limes.<p>

_She was in Sherlock's room._

Katrina groaned and rolled back to her other side, where a note resting against a glass of water was on the bedside table.

_Pick up note to find paracetamol underneath._

_-SH_

She sat up and picked up the note and there was indeed a paracetamol tablet on the surface, next to the glass. She popped it in her mouth and taking a gulp of water, swallowed it, before drinking the rest of the water. She felt better after having the water and soon the tablet would take its effect on her raging headache.

Then there came a knock on the closed bedroom door.

"Katrina? Are you up yet?" came John's voice from the other side.

She didn't answer back, instead she got up and went and answered the door.

"Morning John..." Katrina said. She was greeted back with a smile.

"I was going to leave some toast at your bedside if you weren't up yet, but you are, so..." he held out the plate to her and she took it, following John through the kitchen whilst chomping away on the jam-covered toast.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her.

"Okay. Have a headache though," Katrina responded after swallowing her mouthful.

"Well yes..."

"John... did I do anything ridiculous last night?"

"Um... you kind of got into the cab hugging Sherlock and you told him he smelt of limes."

"If the topic of limes came up and I was sober, I would have still said that."

"You also made out with a consulting criminal," came Sherlock's voice from the doorway.

"Who...?" Katrina was momentarily confused before she realised who he meant. "Jim? Sweet, Irish Jim Moriarty?"

"Yes. He's a consulting criminal. He was putting on an act last night. If I were you, you should really be thanking us before it... ahh, got any further than it should have and you could be waking up naked next to a criminal in your own home, which wouldn't help in your situation at all considering someone else is out after something of yours anyway, so inviting another criminal into your home wouldn't look good on your agenda."

"You could have warned me about him the other day!" Katrina put her plate on the nearest surface before advancing towards Sherlock. John wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light, but he could have sworn that Sherlock actually _flinched_ when she came towards him.

"You weren't-"

"I don't care! If I am going to be involved in some sort of messed up plan of some criminals, you could have at least _warned_ me about the other ones out there."

That was a first - Sherlock being interrupted.

"Your temper had drawn all of your sense and intelligence away from you, so how could I even be expected to be near you, let alone talk to-"

_Slap._

This time, Sherlock actually recoiled, holding the cheek where she had hit him.

"Don't you _dare_ insult my intelligence, Sherlock Holmes. Because that will get you stuck in the deep end of my temper and you will most _definitely _regret it. Next time, you will _tell_ me about anyone else who is involved in the screwed up little world of criminals before I go and fucking kiss them. Bear in mind, they have to be of somewhat significant importance. _Is that clear? _Or so help your ability to have children," she told him in a dangerously low voice.

"Crystal clear," at least he had managed to regain his composure.

"Good," she gave a small smile. "Now, get my coat and shoes, then you'll take me home because I am not going out there alone. And if anything new happens, you will text me."

* * *

><p><strong>Did you enjoy my input of 'Jim from IT?' And the slight Jatrina? And the drunk Katrina? Oh and Katrina slapping Sherlock? And finally, Sherlock getting TOLD?<strong>

**I need to know what you guys thoughts of those things, so review as always!**

**Livvyxxx**


	7. The Diamond Girl: Belts

**Disclaimer: So there I was, in the BBC studios...**

**I think this update is quite fast. I nearly have the next chapter ready, considering I did write it last month. God, I am pretty excited for the next chapter to come out... FezzesRCool25, ZackAttack96 and MayFairy have actually read the beginning bit of it already, because of what I mentioned to them once upon a time and it was requested that I send it to them. I think you guys know what's coming up ;)**

**Other than that, read on!**

* * *

><p>"You're very quiet," commented Katrina.<p>

"So are you."

"Yes, but you're not making conversation."

"I find small talk dull."

"Oh here we go _again_... 'look at me, I'm Sherlock Holmes! I have a massive ego and don't talk to anyone of a lower intelligence than mine!' Oh woop-de-fucking-doo Sherlock. You have to sort out your social skills."

"Do you want me to continue to accompany you home or not?"

"Yes. But that doesn't mean we have to establish ground rules for conversation, because you don't play by rules, do you?" she carried on walking up ahead whilst Sherlock stopped for a moment. When Katrina realised this, she turned back to him. "What?"

"How do you know I don't play by the rules?"

"A wild shot in the dark, I guess... was I right?"

"No," he said a little too quickly.

"Oh really?"

"You were half right."

"Tell me what I got wrong then. If I have to impress you with my detective skills in the future, I need to learn from the _best_, don't I?"

That statement seemed to butter up Sherlock and make him willing to share his current thoughts with Katrina.

"You are right in saying I don't usually play by the rules, however when it comes to a certain someone, I honestly have to say that I _must_ play by the rules, no doubt about it."

"But you don't doubt, do you? Who is this certain someone, may I ask?"

Sherlock shot Katrina a sideways glance.

"I think you already know the answer to that one."

"Moriarty?"

"Oh excellent, you're learning," he said quite rudely before quickening his stride. Even though his attitude was irritating Katrina by this point, she smirked a little. She reckoned that he must be somewhat impressed with her asking of questions that weren't unintelligent, but merely curious ones.

They continued to walk on in silence at this point and Katrina eventually became bored of this and started to look around at her surroundings, to see if she could find anything that might be of interest to herself and Sherlock. She was unsure of whether she was doing it to impress him further.

_Why would I want to impress him? _she thought, frowning.

It was then she noticed something up ahead near the block of flats where she lived. And across the road to her right. Sherlock had noticed by this time that she was frowning even more so than she had been before, and he noticed the worried look in her eyes.

"What have you seen?" he asked her.

"I think we're being followed. Or watched..."

"Run."

Sherlock grabbed Katrina's wrist and they both ran in the direction of the block, not caring about any cars in the road which they darted across, earning many angry hoots from equally shocked and angry drivers. Once inside the building, Sherlock led the pair of them up the stairs and up to the fourth floor where Katrina yanked her arm out of Sherlock's grip and began to look for her keys in her bag.

"Stop," Sherlock told her and looked pointedly at the door. "Someone's broken in."

"How can you-"

"The wood by the door knob. They obviously didn't have a lock picking device, which is rather stupid..." he pushed on the door and it swung open. He and Katrina glanced at each other before making their way inside.

It was silent.

There was no one in there.

At least that's what they thought before both getting knocked on the head, the pair of them crumpling down onto the ground.

"Nice work, boys, I do believe we have them right where we want them..." said a commanding voice, and then everything swirled into darkness.

* * *

><p>When Katrina finally came round, she felt the throbbing pain on the side of her head and found that she was tied to one of the kitchen chairs, except she was in the living room. Looking to her left, she found Sherlock raising his eyebrows at her, also in the same predicament. Someone then cleared their throat and their gaze snapped to look at a man who looked to be about the same height as Sherlock, with slicked back blonde hair and a mischevious glint in his eye.<p>

"Mummy and daddy send their regards to baby Katrina..." he said mockingly, as well as smirking. "But unfortunately they won't be able to make it home tonight."

"What have you done to them? If you've hurt them, I swear I'll-"

"What? What can you possibly do? Look at me, I've evaded him for as long as possible, and now I have the consulting detective tied to a chair. My men also did a good job of knocking him out three weeks prior to today and they've done it again. As for your parents, K, I can leave you to figure out that one for yourself. After all... it's what Holmes would want you to do, isn't it?"

Katrina looked towards Sherlock once more, who was avoiding her gaze on purpose and she realised what the man meant when he said they wouldn't be able to make it home. She bit her lip and closed her eyelids tight, making sure no tears would fall.

"Aww... is baby K upset?" he said, coming inches away from Katrina's face. She headbutted him, but it didn't deter him from anything, so he simply gave a right hook and the chair went toppling backwards onto the floor.

"Darling... you don't want to make this _messy_ now, do you? I only came here to do what I was asked to do... and that was to retrieve something."

"What could she have that your boss could possibly want?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh it's a long story..." the man paced up and down in front of them. "But I could shorten it for you, just to save time. Miss Jenkins' daddy owes... _the King_... a little favour, if you will. But unfortunately daddy lied to the King about it. And apparently we've been rightly informed that Miss Jenkins here is in possession of the favour. We didn't know about it at first... but we've been told now."

"And what, may I ask, am I in possession of?" said Katrina from the floor.

"A teeny tiny diamond."

Sherlock craned his neck towards Katrina, and then he looked down at his tied hands. His eyes widened slightly and flickered quickly to the imposing man. Katrina think he meant that he had a plan to them the pair of them out of there.

"You mean this thing around my neck?" she said. The man cracked a smile.

"Oh so you're _finally_ going to comply. Although it won't get your parents back I'm afraid..." he crouched down next to Katrina and reached out to move the locks of hair that were covering her neck, except she shuffled away from him. He grabbed her hair and pulled her far too close to him, causing Katrina to cry out in pain. He then fished something out of his pocket and something glinted in the light.

_A knife._

Katrina was really scared now. The diamond was a fake. Her father had told her. Unless he had been lying when it gave it to her those few years ago... maybe she could lie too.

"It's a fake. The diamond's a fake. That's why he didn't give it to whoever he had to pass it on to."

"Are you lying?" the knife was pressed up against her neck. "Because if you're lying... I will not regret slitting your pretty little throat... god he was right about you being pale... shame... I wouldn't be able to see the life drain from you..."

She tensed up at his words. _Who was it that wanted the diamond so badly? Had he been spying on her? Or was it...?_

Meanwhile, whilst the man endlessly taunted Katrina, Sherlock was steathily wriggling out of his bonds and finally managed to get free. Having slim hands really did some in useful. He then untied the ropes around his feet and he picked up the chair, swinging it round to hit the man in the side of his face.

He was caught unaware of that, that was for sure, and so Sherlock began to distract him from Katrina in a fight. Unfortunately, the man did have a knife so this was going to be made tougher for him.

Katrina struggled to wriggle her hands through the rope but managed it in the end, considering that Sherlock was in the midst of a fight with a man who had a knife. She undid the ropes on her feet and stood up, trying to think of the best way she could preven the man from doing any serious damage to Sherlock, but without doing anything serious herself.

On her front, that part failed, considering the first thing she thought of was taking off her skinny belt and looping it round the man's neck from behind, pulling it tight enough to havethe outcome of him falling to the ground unconscious. He struggled and tried to wrench the belt off of him and attemtped to headbutt Katrina as well, but that only made her pull it tigher.

She had acted at the right moment, since Sherlock was in a corner.

Sherlock stood stunned at her actions, and watched with curious eyes as Katrina unlooped the belt from the man's neck, checking his pulse to make sure he was still alive and she hadn't committed murder. He noticed the look in her eyes when she stood up. He had never seen such a look on anyone's face before, least of Katrina's face. Her expression was stony, and there was a look of such rage in her eyes, that Sherlock wondered if the Katrina he knew was even in there...

"Skinny belts. Made of leather. Useful for _so_ many things," she then promptly put it back on, the look of rage vanishing. "A thank you would be great, y'know. I just found out that my parents have most likely been brutally murdered, my dad owed Moriarty a favour and I just saved your bloody life, so any thanks would be great!" she snapped at him, glaring. However the glare soon vanished as she came to the realisation of all that had happened in the past day. "Oh my god... Sherlock... my parents..."

Katrina sank to the ground, her head in her hands. She wasn't crying, but the shaking and heavy breathing told Sherlock that she was having a slight panic attack, which could lead to shock in the current case. However he overlooked this fact and promptly text John and Lestrade to come to her home.

"Moriarty?" he then said.

"I..." she tried to calm herself down. Sherlock then crouched down next to her.

"How did you figure that one out? Wait. Don't speak. When the still unnamed man said about you being pale, you realised that other than John, Mycroft and I, the only other person to have been in contact with you was Moriarty. You came to the conclusion of him because Mycroft would not be interested in you and John and I took you back to the flat, were we both were all night, so that leaves Moriarty having relayed the information back to his little knight."

Katrina simply nodded and then looked at Sherlock, giving him a weak smile before folding her arms across her chest. Sherlock stood up and then looked about the room, picking up the pieces of rope and going to discard them in the bin in the kitchen. He then took the chairs and put them back in their rightful place.

Soon, John arrived, followed a few moments later by Lestrade. They both took a look at the scene in surprise.

"So... that's the killer?" said Lestrade. Sherlock nodded.

"Katrina did a very good job in knocking him out cold. I'll explain the story to you later, but whilst you clean up here, I think Katrina is in need of a cup of tea, don't you think so too, John?"

John nodded in agreement with Sherlock's suggestion, although he was wondering why he was suddenly being nice. Something else had happened.

"Sherlock..." John murmured quietly. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"He killed her parents. Katrina, do you know where your parents are?"

Lestrade was listening and so Katrina had to tell him the address of where her parents had lived. Before he could make any response, she just ran. Ran out of her flat, the block and to god knew where, but Sherlock was hot on her tail. It was obvious where she was running to, and that was Baker Street.

However she gained distance from Sherlock, considering he nearly got hit by a car, so when he got to the front steps of 221b, he found Katrina sitting there, looking small, trying her best to keep back the tears, however she wasn't doing so well on that front.

"Go inside and head down the hallway to 221a. Mrs Hudson will after you for the time being."

Katrina's head snapped up when Sherlock spoke to her. She didn't say anything except for wipe her eyes and nod, walking into the house. She hadn't met Mrs Hudson before, but Sherlock had been talking about Katrina with John one time when the landlady came up, and being the gossiper she was, asked who Katrina was. Then as she always did, said it would be good for Sherlock to have a woman like her in his life.

Sherlock thought about the pros and cons of that point as he walked inside, up to the living room. Good points were that yes, Katrina was intelligent. Intelligent enough to work out who was really behind everything, at least, using only one piece of information and the process of elimination.

_When you have elimaneted the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth._

Yes. She was good. Katrina also had bouts of severe determination and confidence. Well, the confidence was always there, considering the way she talked to Sherlock. However the downside was that her confidence could lead her to become over-confident, hence her arguing with Sherlock earlier that day, as well as her temper. That temper... it made her seriously feisty, but arrogant... and it somewhat kept Sherlock on his toes.

That meant he could never be bored. Unless she started to _care_ around him, then he would definitely become bored with her. Momentarily, of course. It was... _hard_ to even attempt to get bored around Katrina. But she had made him sulk, which was almost like a bonus to Sherlock, considering that he only sulked if he got something wrong. The case in which Katrina had made him sulk, he hadn't gotten anything wrong.

Because he had been so deep in thought about the one Katrina Jenkins, Sherlock hadn't realised that he had taken off his coat and scarf and had picked up his violin, playing it whilst staring out of the window. _How? How could that happen?_

Irritating; another word to describe Katrina. Even passing thoughts of her made him stop paying attention to what he was doing.

_What is going on with me? _Sherlock thought as he once again resumed his attention on playing the violin.

* * *

><p>The funeral for Katrina's parents came and went quietly, and quickly. She was trying to forget about it, yet there were things such as her father's will, which apparently no-one else in her family had any idea about. She imagined it a precautionary measure, especially if he had worked with Moriarty - which turned out to be correct, considering she was left a message 'to return it to M.' Only Katrina knew what he meant.<p>

She was also left the motorbike which her dad owned, so it was lucky that she knew how to ride it. About a week or so later after everything to do with - what he said was - sentiment, Sherlock made an... interesting proposal, which surprised John in the very least.

"You want me to live here... at Baker Street?"

"Well I did just ask you that," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Reason?"

"Should I have one?"

"Yes," said John, before Katrina could answer. "Because you don't simply go round asking people to come and live here."

"Exactly," agreed Katrina. "Also, where would I sleep? You only have two bedrooms."

"You would sleep in mine."

"Oh dear lord, I'm getting into a sociopath's bed for all the wrong reasons."

Sherlock looked blank.

John spluttered.

"I don't need sleep," Sherlock said after a while.

"I'd be perfectly happy to bunk on the sofa-"

"I take that as a 'yes I will come stay here for a while until the case is finished.'"

"Ha! I _knew_ you weren't doing because you wanted to make sure I was alright. You're doing because you're waiting for Moriarty to make his next move."

"Even I didn't get that..." murmured John.

"That's because you're an idiot," both Sherlock and Katrina said at the same time. "But then again everyone is."

"We just both spoke at the same time," Sherlock commented, amused.

"Oh no _shit_, Sherlock."

"I'm just going to go to bed now..." John said, getting up and leaving. The pair took little to no notice of his disappearance, Sherlock more so than Katrina.

"Yes," she eventually said. The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched up ever so slightly.

"Good. Now go away, I need to think."

"About what? When Moriarty is going to contact us next, hmm?" when no answer came, Katrina sighed and made her way towards the kitchen. "I'll be off to bed."

She didn't expect Sherlock to come and grab her wrist. He didn't say anything, he just simply looked at her. After a moment or so, he let go and waved her off. Katrina wondered what on earth just happened as she made her way into Sherlock's bedroom.

* * *

><p><strong>So they caught the killer. Katrina's parents are dead. She knows how to ride a motorbike because cars are too mainstream XD (Speaking of non-mainstream, I really want a vintage beetle when I'm older. They are so cute o.o)<strong>

**Review as per usual**

**Livvyxxx**


	8. The Diamond Girl: Cheekbones

**Disclaimer: I will learn how to play the violin...**

**So this is probably one of the most long awaited chapters for some people ;) Hopefully you will enjoy it a second time and obviously the additional stuff I added on to it, to make it more of a proper chapter, not just kinky stuff. XD**

**And there's small bit of Molly Hooper put in, as well as a mention of a character which was in a couple of the Sherlock Holmes books (not sure which ones, I haven't read the ones with this character in it yet) and he is not in BBC Sherlock - yes, it is Sebastian Moran. ^_^**

**On you go and read...**

* * *

><p>"You're in my best dressing gown," Sherlock noted wryly as Katrina came through the kitchen and into the living room, her hair dripping wet as she had recently just come out of the shower.<p>

"Well, all my things are at _my_ flat, which I was unable to go back to yesterday, considering I slept here as you asked me to come and live here for... however long..." she sank down into the armchair opposite Sherlock's.

He was currently sitting in his trademark position; his fingers steepled and resting underneath his chin, meaning that he was thinking hard about something, most likely the case he was working on. Katrina found that his mind must be a glorious yet tragic thing to be in. Glorious because of the way he analysed anything and everything with just one look, but that was also the tragic thing. He could never look at something with analysing it.

"Get John to go and get your things then."

"No."

"Why not? John would be perfectly fine handling women's clothes."

She quirked an eyebrow, knowing exactly what he meant by that.

"I'm only saying no to John going because you need to do something other than sit here cooped up all day. Or do bras just simply scare you that much you don't want to go?" she added sarcastically on the end. Sherlock merely looked at her and snapped out of the position he was in and leaned back in his armchair.

"Shhh," he then said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking. It's irritating."

Katrina jumped up from her chair and then went over to Sherlock, placing her hands on each arm of his chair, leaning towards him.

"Is everything someone does irritating to you? Or does that only really apply to me at the current moment?" she whispered to him.

Sherlock looked from both her wrists on either side of him, his eyes travelling up her body and then eventually landing on her face. He then leaned further towards her and hissed right in her ear:

"I took your pulse last night," his breath on Katrina's ear made her shudder a little, and as he leant back once more, she climbed onto his lap and straddled his waist, playing with the collar on his shirt.

"I know. It was obvious."

"Enlighten me," a patronising look was threatening to appear on Sherlock's face.

"You were smirking at me as you let go of my wrists."

"Very good, Miss Jenkins," and his expression was now back to emotionless.

"Yes, I thought so too..." she replied absent mindedly, still fiddling with his collar, her fingers occasionally brushing the hallow in his neck, sending something through Sherlock which he hadn't really felt before.

"You should at least borrow some clothes to wear," he pointed out bluntly, keeping his eyes on her face at all times.

"What if I don't want to?"

Sherlock didn't respond and instead let his eyes wander around her body once more.

Her hair was starting to drip all over him, her forehead was slightly sweaty, she licked her bottom lip ever so slightly, the increased pulsing vein in her neck was becoming more prominent and the fact that the dressing gown was becoming slightly more loose. Sherlock grabbed the ends of the singly knotted tie and pulled on them so that it tightened back around her again.

This action caused Katrina to jump a little but it didn't deter her from moving her hands to his shoulders and then staring at him in the eye.

"Problem, Mr Holmes?" she cocked her head to the side ever so slightly and mock pouted at him.

"None at all, _Miss Jenkins_," he replied, placing his elbows on the arm rests, allowing his lower arms to droop and gently touch the exposed parts of Katrina's legs. She raised her eyebrows as he did this and a smirk played across her face.

"I could go and borrow something of yours for the time being, you know," she said, one of her hands now cupping his face. Sherlock was being completely oblivious to what she was doing, as he usually was when it came to the fact that she might be trying to have sex with him in the living room. Of all places.

"I rather not have you borrowing my clothes, actually."

"We can have it my way, _Mr Holmes_, or we can have it your way, which will eventually cause a third option to spring up. _Your. Choice,_" with her other hand, she began to gently stroke one of his cheekbones. What she would do to have cheekbones like that. She was _envious._

"I always have it my way, Miss Jenkins," he took the hand that was stroking his cheekbones and the lowered it, however being the stubborn woman she was (he had noticed) she put it back there, on his cheekbone, continuing to caress it. A small smile crept up on one corner of Sherlock's mouth. "Cheekbone envy?" he noted with slight amusement.

They were both totally unaware of a closing door and footsteps on the stairs.

"Mr Holmes..." she came so close to him, their noses were almost touching. "You have no idea..." she pecked his top lip with a quick kiss. Pulling back slightly to see his face, she noticed how it was just simply expressionless and seemingly bored as it usually was.

They were both totally unaware of the figure standing in the doorway awkwardly, before turning around to leave.

"Miss Jenkins, your heart rate has at least doubled, so I suggest you get off me before anything more happens."

"Me getting off you was _not_ the third option," she then kissed him tenderly on the lips. Sherlock wasn't expecting her to do that again (even though he should have been) and somewhat complied by not pulling away and resting his hands on her waist instead. His finger hooked around the dressing gown tie and he was now quite tempted to pull on it so it loosened.

Katrina had sensed exactly what he was tempted to do and she was somewhat quite proud of herself. There was a chance she might have successfully seduced Mr Sherlock Holmes...

Sherlock found himself actually liking this experience just a little bit. A little bit. And then only one thought entered his mind.

She was good. Very good. He might just have to keep her...

The figure who was currently about to go upstairs, stopped and then turned around to find that they were now... snogging? Sherlock Holmes was pretty much snogging Katrina Jenkins whilst she was in his best dressing gown. By the looks of it, just the dressing gown.

"Am I interrupting something? I mean really, the living room of all places," said John and then Katrina broke off the kiss with Sherlock quite suddenly, looking at the embarrassed man in the doorway. Sherlock turned his head round to see John there as well, and instantly he took his hands off of Katrina's waist and she carefully got off him, a delicate blush creeping across her face.

"I need my clothes John," she said simply.

"I thought you would ask Sherlock to get them," he replied, the odd quizzical look he wore most of the time on his face.

"I did, but he's scared of bras."

Sherlock glared at Katrina and she held up her hands in protest.

"Well I don't want to go back there right now. I could have killed a man."

John looked at Sherlock and then pointed at the door. Sherlock looked back at Katrina, but she simply folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. Once again, he glared at her, then he glared at John and jumped up, stomping to get his coat.

When he had left the building (the door was slammed shut) John and Katrina couldn't help but laugh. Then soon after, John started quizzing Katrina.

"Sherlock. Of all people, Sherlock?"

"Oi! You can't judge _me_. You're the one that moved in here without so much as to getting to know him properly."

"Fair play. So erm... why?" instead of going to sit in his usual armchair (which Sherlock and Katrina had previously been occupying) he went and sat on the sofa.

"He was getting irritated with me because I was thinking."

"Ahh. I get it now."

"You do?" Katrina asked, confused.

"Yes..." John paused for a moment. "At least I think I do. You attempted to seduce him in order to get him to shut up."

"So you do get it."

"I did say that."

"Hmm... well, I think I might go and dry off the rest of my hair the best I can..." with those final words, Katrina headed back to Sherlock's room, where she had left the towel on the floor.

* * *

><p>About an hour later, Sherlock returned, rudely dumping a duffel bag in the middle of the living room floor. John raised his eyebrows at Sherlock and then turned back to the newspaper he was reading.<p>

"What took you so long?" John asked him.

"Women's clothing. That is all you actually need to know. I'll let you figure the rest out for yourself."

Sherlock then went and banged on his bedroom door, then walking away again to put on the kettle and take off his coat. Katrina came out a few moments later, still in the dressing gown, but her hair was drier, and even more wilder than usual, considering she had only a towel to dry it.

"Someone got up on the wrong side of bed..." she mumbled. "Oh wait. You don't sleep."

She then carried on walking to the living room to pick up the duffel bag, muttering about 'sociopaths' and 'arrogant sods.' Sherlock watched her, a blank expression on his face and John was trying to hide his smirk, but failing.

Not more than ten minutes later, Katrina emerged from the room once more, looking slightly happier now that she actually had clothes. She approached Sherlock who was sitting in the armchair, as if waiting for something, or thinking.

"You know the kettle's boiled, yes?" she said to him.

No answer.

Katrina then counted to five and a half which was when Sherlock actually seemed to register what she had said.

"Oh! Yes. I need to drink some tea. It does good for thinking. White, two sugars."

"Go and make it yourself."

"I've been thinking about our dear little captor - it's been a week since he's been in prison for the time being until the court case, but wouldn't you have expected something to happen by now?"

Katrina rolled her eyes and went to go and make him the cup of tea he desperately wanted. She didn't put any sugar in it. She just wanted to irritate him, the lazy arse he could be sometimes.

"Why would you expect something to happen?"

"His boss was Moriarty, Katrina, think a little more if you please."

"Sherlock..." John said with a warning tone, looking at Katrina who waved him off as she brought the tea over to Sherlock.

"John you too should think a little more. If Moriarty was his boss, then the fact he got thwarted by a woman's skinny belt would account for him not entirely being pleased and he may just want to dispose of him. Ah Katrina, thank you," he took the tea from her and had a sip of it. He pulled a face and he looked up at her. "I asked for _two_ sugars."

"I know."

"Why aren't there two sugars?"

"Because I wanted to annoy you."

Sherlock said nothing but merely put it down on the little table in front of him. His phone then went off and he retrieved it from his pocket and to find he had a text from Lestrade.

_Come to Barts._

_It's important._

_-GL_

"And apparently Lestrade is out of his depth again."

"What?" asked John.

"I'm needed at Barts. I'll be back later," Sherlock got up and exited Baker Street, Katrina hurrying in his wake, not wanting to miss an opportunity to help out if this was to do with the killer.

"Are you honestly going to get a cab?"

"Yes."

"Yet I could probably drive you there."

"On the back of the bike? Hmm, no thanks."

"It'll save you money."

"Money is not an object."

"It will also most likely get you there quicker."

"...Are you sure you know how to operate it?"

"_No_, that's why it was passed to me in the family. So I could _stare_ at it _all day long_."

"You have a spare helmet?"

"Yes."

"Then I should think that I couldn't object to that."

"Exactly... just... hold on. Very tightly."

Sherlock gave Katrina an odd look before following her to the sleek black motorbike that she now owned. She passed him a helmet and he put it on, before clambering onto the back of it behind her.

"Exactly where do I hold you?" he was aware that his voice would now be muffled.

"My waist, you idiot," yes. Katrina's voice was muffled too.

"Fine then," Sherlock rested his hands on Katrina's waist and he could tell that she had rolled his eyes at him.

"If I were you, actually _wrap _your arms around my waist."

"Oh," Sherlock did as she said.

"Comfortable?"

"No not-"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence as the motorbike roared to life and Katrina kicked off from the curb.

To be fair, she could operate the damned thing, which was always a good start, but Sherlock didn't like being on the back of a motorbike, out in the open air. He clung to Katrina like his life depended on it, and he must have been holding on too hard, consindering she kicked him in the leg at one point and he loosened his grip ever so slightly.

All in the all, the journey was enjoyable but quick and Sherlock was glad to be outside Barts, Lestrade waiting outside, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Sherlock pulled the helmet off and rested it on the back of the seat, as did Katrina and they bother approached the detective inspector.

"You have a motorbike?" he asked Katrina.

"Yes."

"And you got Sherlock to go on it?"

"Yes."

"Exactly how did you manage that?"

"Told him I could drive it."

"Can you drive it?"

"Oh for goodness' sake, _yes!_" Katrina rolled her eyes at him.

"Okay then..." he turned to Sherlock. "The guy that was in Miss Jenkins' apartment last week? Found dead is his holding cell this morning."

"And you need me?" Sherlock responded.

"We can't identify the bullet."

"Of course you can't..." Sherlock walked past Lestrade and Katrina followed him, mouthing a 'sorry' at him.

Following Sherlock through the corridors of the hospital, she remembered how much she hated them and never wanted to end up in one again. Everything was too clean and it had a weird smell about it, almost like you could smell the blood, the fear and the death mixed in with all the cleaning products. God, she hoped that she wouldn't have to use the bathroom at any point in the duration they were here.

It turns out they had to go down to the morgue.

They got there and a chirpy yet slightly awkward woman came and greeted them.

"He had a bullet lodged in his chest. I got it out, but they couldn't identify it. There's also this strange marking round his neck... looks like some bruising which has started to fade away..."

"Thank you, Molly," he said, turning round slowly to face Katrina, who just coughed awkwardly.

"W-who's this?" Molly asked.

"Katrina. You could say the victim in all of this... except she's honestly not that weak," Sherloc ktook off his coat and went to go and have a look at the body, leaving Molly and Katrina standing there, almost uncomfortable with each other. Molly smiled at Katrina quite sweetly, but she couldn't manage more than a strained one back.

Molly's overly cheery attitude was beginning to annoy Katrina, then thankfully Sherlock came back over.

"You would be correct on the bruising front, Molly. I don't know if Lestrade told you, but that man lying dead broke into Katrina's apartment a little over a week ago and she strangled him with her skinny belt. He didn't die, obviously... just fell unconscious. Oh yes, I should warn you now, not to make Katrina angry. I'll be in the lab. The bullet's there, yes?"

Molly nodded quickly and Sherlock left, so she began to put the body away, Katrina still in the room.

"So er... _you're_ Katrina?" Molly commented as she wheeled the body out of sight.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Katrina replied with a chuckle.

"Hmm."

"You're not one for conversation are you?"

"Well... no. Not really. I work in a morgue all day so you can tell not much talking goes on," she smiled brightly. Katrina resisted the urge shake her head and quickly changed the subject.

"Let's go find Sherlock, yes?" she was already halfway out of the room, Molly quickly following, putting on lipstick in the process. She was totally unaware of Katrina doing the same thing, except with lip gloss. "Where's the lab?"

"Just up those stairs there to your left," came the reply and Katrina nodded, hurrying up them, along a short stretch of corridor, through a set of double doors and another, which led directly into the lab.

Sherlock was sitting on one of the chairs in his trademark position, his fingertips pressed together and resting underneath his chin. He was eyeing something on one of the benches in front of him. Katrina went and stood behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder before bending down to his height to murmur something in his ear.

"Found anything yet?"

He jumped slightly, as if he was unaware of the fact that two women had entered the lab and that one of them had taken hold of his shoulder in the first place, and only realising the presence when spoken too. He had been very deep in thought and nearly snarled because he was interrupted. He merely shrugged out her grip and stood up, straightening his jacket as he did so.

"I have a few ideas," he proclaimed smugly but then turned serious. Katrina looked at the table and saw several bullets laid out in a line, one of which had dried blood on it - the one that had obviously killed Felix Cooper.

"Care to share? I'm just interested in how you managed to acquire the bullets."

"And I'm interested in how you managed to acquire some lip gloss - which by the way, isn't much of an improvement, you don't want to go too big. However Molly, you should keep with the lipstick, definitely an improvement there - would you mind getting me a coffee? Black, two sugars."

"Um. Okay," Molly squeaked out before leaving the room, unsure of what just happened.

Sherlock turned back to Katrina.

"Lestrade gave me the bullets, because I asked for them."

"And?"

"Let's just say the bullet found in Felix wasn't exactly your conventional bullet..."

"Meaning?"

"It was hand-crafted, for a specially designed gun - the only one of its kind."

"Again, meaning?"

"We can't look any deeper into it, otherwise there'll be much more trouble than this case is worth."

Katrina ignored the feelings that the last comment provoked and asked yet another question.

"Sherlock... why can't this be looked into deeper?"

"Because he's uncatchable. Catching would be like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. His name is Sebastian Moran and he is Jim Moriarty's right hand man."

"Ah."

"Exactly. I should probably tell Lestrade before we head off. Hmm, I guess there was no need for the coffee... Molly can drink that," he was about to leave the room when he phone went off. Sherlock took a look at the text and then Katrina. "I honestly hope you can get us back to 221b fast enough without breaking the speed limit."

* * *

><p>They reached Baker Street quickly, as Sherlock had requested. He was sure that Katrina had belted it through a yellow light, but they hadn't be pulled over by any of the police, so he assumed everything was alright so far.<p>

They hastily dumped the helmets on the back of the bike and Katrina had to run to keep up with Sherlock as he power-walked into 221b and up the stairs into the living room.

"What's going on, Sherlock?" she said, but then upon entering the living room, she received her answer.

"We meet again, Miss Jenkins," Mycroft Holmes gave her one of his quite snobbish smiles.

"Hello Mr Holmes."

"Mycroft, please, if you're going to be living here with my brother, we might as well skip all the formalities."

"As long as you call me Katrina because when you sneer 'Miss Jenkins' at me it's fucking creepy."

"You no objection-" Sherlock began, but Katrina whacked him on the arm to get him shut up. Mycroft raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Am I to expect a happy announcement by the end of this week? Perhaps one that would state my brother is no longer a virgin?"

"Mycroft..." Sherlock growled while John just simply facepalmed.

"You're a virgin?" Katrina asked Sherlock. Not accusingly, but curiously. Sherlock gave her a look that had the answer all over his face. "Well, I guess that was obvious..."

"You're learning," Sherlock gave a tiny hint of a smile, which faded when he rounded on Mycroft. "What do you want, Mycroft?"

"I've come to warn you."

"About what?"

"Your case. Do not go any deeper."

"What are you on about?" John asked.

"You figured out who shot the bullet that killed Felix Cooper, yes?"

"Sebastian Moran," replied Sherlock.

"Who's Sebastian Moran?" John asked, once again.

"He's a well-trained sniper, and he could also be known as Jim Moriarty's right hand man."

"Sherlock, if you try and catch him, it'll be biting off more than you can chew," input Mycroft, now getting up. "Leave it alone, we wouldn't want a repeat of what happened with Miss Adler now, would we? Good day."

The three of them watched as Mycroft left. As soon as he was out of earshot, Sherlock slammed the living room door and began pacing.

"Well?" said Katrina expectantly.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to listen to your brother?"

John snorted, beginning to laugh and Katrina looked at him, a little unimpressed.

"Oh you were being serious? Yeah, Sherlock tends _not_ to listen to Mycroft."

"Thank you for clearing that up. So what happens now? Jim's still after this," she held up the tiny diamond around her neck.

"You're referring to him as 'Jim?'"

"Urgh, fine... _Moriarty_ then... don't look at me like that, I bet he would have been a damn good shag if you two hadn't shown up."

Everything went silent in the room, as the two men stared at her in disbelief.

"What? I didn't know he was a criminal mastermind at the time."

"Consulting criminal..." Sherlock muttered. "Anyway, do you know what we're going to do? We're going to _wait_ until Moriarty makes his next move."

"You're saying we're just going to sit around and play his game?" John said.

"Yes. Otherwise there's a chance any of us could get killed, or anyone else connected, or not connected."

"That hasn't stopped you before."

Katrina could feel the awkward in the room and so she retreated into the kitchen, sliding the doors closed, so as to give Sherlock and John some privacy whilst they talked things over.

"What's changed, Sherlock?"

"Nothing's changed, I'm merely pointing out the obvious," he replied, bitterly.

"No. You'd be out there, right now, looking for Moriarty or Sebastian. But this time you're actually _listening_ to your brother and doing as he says. _What's changed?_"

"Nothing has changed, John!"

"Yes it has. You just don't want to be responsible for another life, do you?"

"Or maybe I don't want to be responsible for another death."

"How human of you."

"It may surprise you, John, but I infact _am_ human. I just don't want another responsibility."

"But she's perfectly capable of looking after herself, so why are you lis-"

"Oh _shut up_, John."

Sherlock slid open the kitchen doors with a bang and stormed to his bedroom, closing the door with a loud bang. The next moment, Mrs Hudson came running up the stairs, and John sank into an armchair, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing.

"Is everything alright, dears?" Mrs Hudson asked sweetly. "I heard a lot of banging and was worried for a moment."

"Everything's alright Mrs Hudson," Katrina said with a smile. "Sherlock's in one of his moods."

* * *

><p><strong>Did you all enjoy Shertrina kinky times? There are some bathtub feels (not in that way) coming up in the next chapter. Oh and probably what Mycroft called a 'happy announcement' sometime after that.<strong>

**Review as per usual!**

**Livvyxxx**


	9. The Diamond Girl: Baths

**Disclaimer: Damn Mofftiss. Damn them.**

**So it's been a while, but I've been busy doing other things. Oh and I found out that Sherlock series 3 filming starts at the beginning of next year D: This means I'll be in year 12 by the time series 3 comes out... that's interesting, I was in year 8 when series 1 came out and then series 2 came out in year 10... hmm... interesting XD**

**This is an interesting chapter. I think Shertrina shippers may like this ;)**

* * *

><p>Sherlock didn't come out of his room for two days. Well, John and Katrina suspected he did, considering whenever food was placed outside of his room, halfway through the day it would suddenly become half eaten. Half eaten food was good enough for them. And the fact that the shower was running at an ungodly hour proved that he was actually coming out of his room from time to time.<p>

He hadn't sulked this long before, and Katrina watched as John typed up another blog post about Sherlock being sulky again, which made the pair of them crack up into hysterics.

"Okay... you're mean..." Katrina eventually said.

"No, I'm not," John continued chuckling.

"Hmmm... okay, I'll agree with you on that one."

"I'm just having fun with Sherlock's mood."

"You know when he eventually reads your blog, he'll start sulking again."

John paused for a moment.

"Maybe I'll just put this on a document and keep it from the world..."

"You mean keep it from _Sherlock_. You don't mind the world seeing, it's just Sherlock you don't want to see."

Once again, John paused.

"I'll just put this on a document and keep it from Sherlock..."

Katrina laughed once more and patted John on the shoulder.

"Well, you have fun with non-blogging blogging about Sherlock, I'll be going to have a bath. Don't come in the bathroom for the next half hour."

"Seriously, half an hour?"

"Fine, don't come in for up to an hour."

"That's more like it - and why would I anyway?"

Katrina shrugged.

"I don't know. Your head could be on fire or something."

"What the-" John turned to look at her, confusion all over his face, as well as the look of someone who just suddenly felt a little weirded out. "Why would my head be on fire?"

"Oh I have no idea, you could have accidentally fallen into the oven which had one of Sherlock's experiments in it!" she replied, walking backwards through the kitchen in the general area of the bathroom.

"Does the oven have an experiment in it?"

Katrina stopped walking backwards and glanced at the oven.

"How should I know?"

"Check."

"I'm not going _near_ that oven - you do it!"

"Deal with your first experiment... it might not be as bad as what I had to deal with."

"What did you have to deal with?"

"A head in the fridge."

"That's digusting. But fine, I'll check the oven," she headed over to the kitchen appliance and crouched down, slowly pulling the oven door down and peering inside. A strange smell struck Katrina and she immediately slammed it shut again and jumped up.

"What?"

"I'm not sure... but I _think_ there might be leg in there covered with stomach acids."

"How can you tell it was stomach acids?"

"Well you know that smell when you puke up bile-"

John held up his hand to stop her from continuing.

"I get it. Now go have your bath and... relax to some form..."

Katrina smiled and then headed to the bathroom, which was the only bathroom in 221b and one of the downers to it was the fact it was also ensuite to Sherlock's bedroom. It also didn't have any locks on it.

After making sure the doors were closed properly, she ran the water until it was almost hot before taking off her clothes and getting in, leaning her head back against the wall so only the tips of her hair got a little wet in the water.

Katrina sighed in contentment, swishing the water around with her fingers and watching the ripples until they faded to bare minimum, just forgetting all that had happened in the past few weeks. It was one of those occasions where she felt at peace...

Until a voice drawled through the closed doors to her ears.

"I'm bored..."

"Piss off, Sherlock."

"But I'm bored."

"Let me have a happy hour."

"Katrina..." he continued to whine like a child. He was still in his bedroom, but by judging how close his voice was, she guessed that he was leaning against the door that led into the bathroom.

She gritted her teeth and exhaled deeply through her nose.

"Come in if you want..." she then brought up her knees and hugged them to her chest as Sherlock entered. He noticed this and merely ignored it for the time being, shutting the door and crouching in front of the bath next to Katrina.

"You really don't need to do that. I've seen Irene Adler naked and I nearly saw you naked. Don't be embarrassed, it's a little pathetic."

Katrina rolled her eyes and assumed her previous position, noticing how Sherlock only continued to look at her face.

"I'd like to point out that you were the one sulking for two days. Not me or John. It's on your own head that you're bored."

"Not my fault."

"Yes, it is."

"Has Moriarty contacted you in the past two days at all?"

"No. For goodness' sake, Sherlock, just... just leave it for now. Just, for once, _wait_. Not everything is going to come to you at once, and being an impatient sod isn't going to get it to you any quicker. It'll just slow it down."

Sherlock was silent as he dipped his hand in the still quite hot water, moving it about ever so slightly.

"Water's still hot."

"Well yeah... I've only been in about ten, fifteen minutes."

"Thirteen and a half minutes..." Sherlock muttered.

"That's scarily precise."

"What would you expect from me?"

"I think I'd quite like to see some humanity in you."

Sherlock tore his hand from the water and started pacing the small bathroom, coming across as angry. Katrina watched him, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and wondered what he was about to do.

"That's what everyone says," he eventually said. "They all say I'm not human."

"Well if you showed some emotion from time to time then they might start to believe you are human."

"Emotions make you weak," he snapped in reply.

"No they don't!"

"I've said this to you before - will caring make me save them faster?"

"Not caring didn't help you save them at all," she replied bitterly, referring to her parents. "You need to learn when to say the appropriate things."

"What are you talking about?"

"John told me about something that happened during A Study in Pink - the woman's stillborn daughter - you thought it ridiculous that she would still be upset about her _dead_ daughter."

"Why would she, though?"

"Because it was her _daughter_, Sherlock. Even though she hadn't had any interaction with her properly because she was stillborn, whilst pregnant she would have grown attached and loved her anyway. And I think that giving birth to your dead daughter would leave some kind of trauma for years the rest of her years."

No answer. Katrina sighed.

"You know what? Take off your clothes and get in the bath. You're going to experience human contact and I'm going to tell you something about emotions."

"No."

"It's an experiment and you're my test subject," she offered.

Sherlock still didn't comply and Katrina sighed. He then stopped and sat down by the bath again.

"You were saying something about emotions?" he prompted.

"I was. You say emotions make you weak and vulnerable... but they don't. Emotions make people more human than they are. For instance, if you bottle up something for a long time, it would make you feel like you were going crazy, but the minute you tell someone about it, you end up pouring your heart out to them, sobbing and then when you're done you feel better. You feel _happier_. You no longer have the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"...Go on..."

"And emotions show that you are willing to do anything for somone you really care about, that you really love, especially if they were in danger. Because if you do something quite... _extreme_, it shows that you _do_ love them, that you _do_ care about them."

"Have you done anything then, to show that?"

"No. Not yet..." she thought for a moment. "And people do things to evoke emotion in others. Like if a girl was trying to get back her ex-boyfriend, she would make him jealous by having the time of her life with someone else. Or if she wanted to gett off with someone new, she could make that person jealous by pretending to get back with her ex-boyfriend. Do you see how things like that work?"

"I still just think it's a release of chemicals in-"

"Forget about the science-y side of things for once. Just... relax, stop your brain working Sherlock. It would do you good... and other people around you some good. Just until... how about we say... until six o'clock tomorrow morning. You have seven and a quarter hours. Can you handle that? Just not working for once?"

"Possibly."

"So you'll try?" Katrina looked at Sherlock, anticipation written all over her face. Sherlock gave a very tiny smile.

"Yes," he said quite forcefully, which made Katrina chuckle. "You should get out now."

"Why? I feel comfy sitting here..." she replied.

"Your fingers are pruning," as if to illustrate his point, Sherlock held up Katrina's hand to find that her fingers were indeed, going wrinkly and slightly more paler.

"Okay then..." she then realised something. "I'm not getting dressed with you still in here."

"I won't look."

"Get out Sherlock."

"No."

"I'll be getting dry and dressed!"

"I don't have an issue with that."

He was too stubborn. He wouldn't leave the bathroom.

"Don't look."

"I wasn't planning on doing that. If I wanted to look at naked women I would borrow John's laptop."

"You almost-

"Shut up and get out of the bath."

"Not until you face away."

Sherlock sighed and then made a point of turning his head to the side and looking at the wall. Satisfied, Katrina got out of the bath, dried herself off with the towel and got dressed, exiting the bathroom and going into Sherlock's room.

Katrina then went a collapsed face-first onto the bed. She was tired, but didn't feel like going to sleep yet, despite it being around eleven. Her mind was just a random jumble of thoughts of what she had just told Sherlock and his reaction to it all.

"I thought you were going to sleep," came his velvety voice from above her.

"My mind is a mess..." she rolled over onto her back and looked up at him.

"I could always help you form a mind palace.

"No."

"Fine," he paused for a moment. "Personal question."

"Honestly? You?" Katrina scoffed.

"Shut up. Let me ask, considering the drivel I just had to listen to about emotions."

Suddenly, Katrina reached out and grabbed Sherlock by the collar, bringing him round and down onto the bed, straddling his waist and pinning down his shoulders so that he was unable to move.

"Really? You want to ask a _temperemental woman _a _personal_ question then you go and say something like that? Then again, it's what you're usually like, but I have to give you credit for actually saying you _listened_ to me in the bathroom."

"You make a good case. Now let's discuss the fact you cut your own hair and never usually wear shorts around me, yet you're doing so now."

"People liked to pull my hair when I was younger, so there came a point when I was about eleven and I was so angry and hated my hair so much I just cut it off and kept it short ever since."

"Now there was a reason you cut your hair to do with your legs."

"Why are you pressing these matters when you know I don't want to talk about them?"

"I'm right aren't I? You're self conscious."

"Sherlock..."

"You always had tiny little marks around your knees which became more evident as you grew, making them more like stretch marks from growth."

"Why are you telling me slash asking me this?"

"Because you've never worn shorts around me before."

"Maybe I ran out of jeans."

"You haven't."

"You bastard," Katrina got off of Sherlock then retreated backwards off of the bed. "I can see why people tell you to piss off when you make deductions about them. Really _personal_ ones."

Sherlock thought carefully about what he was going to say next.

"I honestly didn't... want to offend you. I was just being... curious about your reasoning," he said quietly.

"You shouldn't be making deductions like that until six in the morning. Remember our little agreement?"

"I thought of those things before you instigated that."

"Alright then... so now you know a vulnerable point about me. Can you drop it now? And no, I wasn't attempting to seduce you by wearing shorts. I just didn't feel like wearing jeans today."

Sherlock nodded.

"But..." he then said and Katrina sighed, but allowed him to continue. "You covered your knees most of the time when you were a child. So it was just the hair. And you were just self conscious anyway."

"You just didn't want me to tell you that you got something wrong."

"Precisely."

"Well what do we do now?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, considering I want to go to sleep and you're on the bed, I can't exactly do that."

"Sleep is boring."

"There's a second option to sleep which you could consider an experiment," she made her way back onto the bed, kneeling next to Sherlock who was still lying down.

"Even if it is an experiment, no."

"Surely you're not saying you _aren't_ curious about something like that?"

"I am, yes, but-"

"It's an experiment."

"But I-"

"_Experime-_"

Sherlock cut her off by sitting up and crushing his lips to hers. After a moment or so he pulled away and looked into her shocked green eyes.

"Fine," was all he said.

* * *

><p>Sherlock woke up a few hours later – <em>what?<em> Woke up? When did he even fall asleep- oh. He looked to his left and saw a mass of very curly brown hair. He brought himself up onto his elbows and peered over Katrina at the clock. It was five o'clock in the morning. One more hour. He allowed his head to fall back down onto the pillow.

He was about to get out of bed when Katrina turned over so that ended up facing him. By the looks of it, she was about half awake.

"I know you're awake..." she said to him, sleepily.

"Everything's a blur."

"Big clue: we're both naked."

"So I gave in?"

Katrina opened her eyes and lay on her back.

"You just wanted me to shut up, to be completely fair. But also, you're a quick learner... and I feel quite sorry for John."

"Why?"

"I don't think he got much sleep last night..."

"...I see what you mean."

"Good, because I wasn't going to explain."

"Fine then," Sherlock got out of bed and started putting his clothes on. However when he was about to button up his shirt, he found he couldn't. "The buttons on my shirt are gone."

"Oh yeah," Katrina sat up, holding up the bed sheets. "I have this tihng where I don't undo the buttons, I just... rip open the shirt."

"Why would you do that?" Sherlock asked, going to get another shirt.

"It's quicker."

"...Fair enough, I suppose."

"Good thing I didn't ruin the purple one," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing! I might just go back to sleep for a few more hours."

"Alright then," Sherlock left the room as soon as he was dressed and Katrina snuggled back down under the covers, shutting her eyes.

Just as she was about to finally drift off, the sound of a violin came drifting through the shut door. Katrina groaned in annoyance and then looked at the clock. It was sometime past six, and so that meant Sherlock was now back to his normal deducing-self. Which of course meant the violin, but now she wouldn't be able to sleep.

Sighing, Katrina wrapped the bedsheet around her to form a make-shift dress before wandering into the living room to tell Sherlock off and stop playing the violin.

She did this only to find that John had had the same idea.

That was enough for Sherlock to stop playing.

"Okay..." Katrina started slowly. "John, consider yourself lucky I decided to come in wearing the bedsheet."

"That I am, yes..." he replied, a little fazed. Then he realised what she said. "Wait, you were going to walk in naked?"

"Well I was once told I could be a nudist, but I said to them very firmly 'no.' For reasons you will one day know and Sherlock will not say."

"Right."

"Oh by the way you two, I'm off out today," Sherlock suddenly said.

"Where?" Katrina asked.

"Just business."

"You're not going after Moran," John said forcefully.

"He's currently more dangerous than Moriarty at the moment."

"Sherlock, no-one is more dangerous than Moriarty."

"Yet Moriarty has got him targeting Katrina if she doesn't do as he says."

* * *

><p><strong>I changed the bathroom scene a bit from what it originally was...<strong>

**Review as always my lovelies :)**

**Livvyxxx**


	10. The Diamond Girl: End

**Nearly two years. I am so sorry everybody. I promise the next update after this won't take so long. I definitely had all the ideas in place, but I just never wrote them down. Then my GCSEs came around, as did a very long summer, and then year 12 started and- well, Sherlock came back, didn't it? And that's what reminded me I needed to write this.**

* * *

><p>"You're still not going after him," Katrina jabbed a finger at Sherlock and he rolled his eyes.<p>

"So you would rather be shot dead?"

"But if Moriarty contacts me, I would comply."

"You don't _need_ to comply if I go after Moran because then that way you would be able to get away from Moriarty."

"I'm not running. Sherlock... just don't. I'll go wherever he tells me to and hand over the diamond when he tells me to."

"And if it's a trap when he does? You're as good as dead. Or if he's not in the mood to have you killed, perhaps a little pawn in his games. He could manipulate you."

"I'm not easily manipulated."

"Look, would you two just _stop_ having a lover's tiff for moment," John finally outburst, getting extremely annoyed with their bickering. "There is an-"

He couldn't complete his sentence because the song _Saturday Night Fever _started ringing through the flat, evidently coming from someone's phone.

"Who's is that?" John asked.

"Mine..." answered Katrina, embarrassed, crouching down by the door of the living room where she had dropped her handbag, digging out her phone. "It's an unknown number," she said, standing back up again.

"Don't answer it," said Sherlock.

"I'm going to answer it."

"It's-"

"I know."

"Don't be-"

"Sherlock!"

Once again, the detective rolled his eyes and Katrina answered her mobile. Hesitantly, she spoke, knowing who it was going to be.

"This a temperamental bitch, how may I help you?"

"_K, darling, how are the boys?" _came an Irish voice from the other end.

"I don't believe that's any of your business."

"_Oh believe me, honey, it _really _is. I have a proposition for you."_

"You mean a demand. You're going to tell me what to do or I get shot."

"_Little K knows what she's dealing with. Clever little girl,"_ Jim chuckled on the other side.

"I'm not a little girl, incase you didn't notice that when you had your tongue down my throat!" she snapped.

"_Ohhh. Fiesty," _he commented, amused. _"Now. Back on track. You've got something of mine, haven't you? Your daddy never gave it back to me. His mistake. I want it back. You're going to meet me, tonight at ten o'clock. Alone. Be on time. Or early."_

"Where?"

"_Hackney Picturehouse. Screen three."_

"What happens if I'm... not alone?"

"_You'll want to be alone because dear Sebastian will be on site. Now darling, I have to go. Lol-smiley face-kiss-kiss-hug and all that."_

He then hung up.

Katrina slowly pulled the phone away from her ear and all was silent in the room. John was the first to break the silence.

"I have to say, you handled that quite well."

No response.

"Katrina?"

She chucked the phone towards Sherlock before readjusting the sheets around her and hurrying from the living room, back into the bedroom, slamming the door.

"I spoke too soon," John sighed, going to slump in a chair.

"We need to know what he wanted from her," said Sherlock, heading in the direction to his room.

"Sherlock, _no_."

He stopped.

"Why? We need to know right now, if we're to ever get him to get Sebastian to _not_ shoot our... client."

"You know this has gone way too far for it to even be something we get paid for? This particular case, I mean. Not that she actually came to us in the first place."

"Lestrade came to us with the case, because he couldn't figure out anything, which is _not_ unusual for him. Then of course Katrina decides to help me out because I landed at her feet on the pavement, when it turns out the whole case revolved around a little diamond she has had with her for a while because of her father working with Moriarty. He was asked to retrieve it for Moriarty but instead gave it to his daughter and now she has ended up in a _fine_ mess. Now I am going to find out _what he wanted_."

Sherlock stormed into his room, thankfully to find Katrina fully dressed. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, a slight frown on her face.

"Piss off, Sherlock."

"I need to know."

"If I tell you, I'll probably get killed."

"Why?" he came and sat down next to her.

"You'll come after me, that's why – because it's _Moriarty_."

"That would be why you were asking what would happen if you weren't alone," Sherlock came to the conclusion.

"Um, we all die basically."

"That was a given either way," he pointed out to her.

"I don't fancy dying," she raised an eyebrow at him. "So I'll be going to East London _alone_."

"East London?" he began to pace the room, Katrina watching his every move. "Why would he pick East London?"

"It's the most grim part of London, that's why. He probably wants to scare me."

"Funny how he's doing all of this for one tiny little diamond," Sherlock ceased in his pacing and went towards Katrina, taking hold of the piece of jewellery around her neck. She batted his hand away.

"Oh – piss off," she got up and began to make her way out of the room.

"Wait."

"What?" she turned to face him again, not looking impressed.

"Your phone," he threw it back to her and she managed to catch it.

"Thanks. And don't follow me later on," she gave him a very pointed look before leaving Sherlock alone in his room, slamming the door shut in her wake.

He stared at the door for several minutes, perhaps even half an hour. This was certainly a curious case surrounding Katrina Ann Jenkins. He knew that Moriarty liked to ensure all of his favours were owed, but Sherlock never thought for a second that he would go after someone who was so innocent in these terms. Innocent in the fact she had no clue what was going on. She had been thrown into the mess and _that_ was what made Sherlock so interested in this in the first place.

The thrill of the chase.

The thrill of the mystery.

And now an unlikely participant in game that had been going on between Moriarty and her father for longer than she could think, and now Sherlock was part of that game. The game of favours. The dangerous game of favours, and now Sherlock had a round going with Katrina. She didn't know it yet, however, because-

_Innocence._

It was the same as ignorance in this matter.

The only shred of innocence she held, because, well- Sherlock knew for a fact she wasn't so innocent in other areas. He found he had enjoyed himself in their little _tête-à-tête._ Their little _rendezvous _the night before. He may have liked it, but it didn't mean he'd be partaking in it again. He'd had the experience that most humans had, and Katrina had taught him it was fine to be like everyone else, just for a little bit. But at the same time she had shown him how different he was, and that that was okay too.

A small smile came to Sherlock's face.

She was a mystery to him somehow, but less of one than Irene Adler. He could read Katrina, but he could not read The Woman.

The mystery of the innocently-ignorant Katrina Ann Jenkins.

One day he should like to solve that mystery.

But today was not that time.

Eventually Sherlock moved again and came out of his trance. Out of his mind palace. He exited his bedroom and back into the living room, where Katrina and John were sitting on the sofa, talking about something – planning something. They turned their attention to Sherlock when he came in.

"We've got a plan," Katrina said. "But if none of us follow it to the dot, we're all done for."

Sherlock gave her an odd look.

"You only just left the room."

"It's been fifteen minutes," John told him. "We came up with something that'll work, and keep all of us out of trouble."

"If it isn't as workable as you say it is we'll have to think of something else or let her go alone," Sherlock said casually as he strolled over to _his_ armchair, sitting down with his fingers steepled ever so slightly in front of his chin. The other two occupants in the room merely watched him as he sat staring towards the kitchen. "Well go on. Tell me what your average brains have come up with."

"And to think I slept with you last night..." Katrina mumbled under her breath, causing John to cough a little awkwardly but then let out a chuckle afterwards, making the woman smirk. Sherlock eyed them curiously.

"On with it."

* * *

><p><em>9:45pm<em>

Katrina made her way into the Hackney Picturehouse, a cinema that was usually filled with people who tended to enjoy a good indie film as often as they could. But tonight, it was completely empty. It was unnerving, because the lights were low, and it was completely silent save for the irritating drone of those lights as she walked towards screen three.

Upon reaching her final destination, she opened the doors and made her way into the barely lit theatre. Nobody was in there, as far as she was aware as she made her way to the front row, standing uselessly by the seats until she heard approaching footsteps.

Looking behind her, she saw Jim Moriarty making his way down from the back row and towards her, all dressed up smartly in a suit and a wicked grin on his face. He looked like a child mastermind, about to do something so terrible that it thrilled him to no end.

"So you paid attention to my instructions," he said in his booming Irish voice. "Good girl."

"Well, it's only my life I've got to worry for," a lame quip in the face of possible danger.

"True... true... how'd you manage to get away from the boys? Did you tell them you were coming here?" he was now along the front row, making his way towards her slowly.

"I alluded to the fact I was going to be in East London," she shoved her hands in her pockets and was taking tentative steps backwards.

"East London's not very nice, is it?"

"Hmm. Bit grim. Suits your perfectly."

He scoffed.

"_Hardly_, K, darling. Do you have it?"

"I do."

"Then give it to me."

"You'll have to get it yourself," she looked a little smug. Jim stopped in his tracks, the grin fading from his face momentarily, however it came back quickly.

"Oh! I see. You're wearing it still, aren't you?"

"I've taken a shine to it. Although diamonds don't shine. They reflect."

"It reflects your shining beauty then," he winked at her as he came ever closer. They were now only inches apart, and his hand went up to her neck.

* * *

><p><em>9:50pm<em>

Both Sherlock and John had made their way in through the back door, definitely unseen by anybody who might possibly be on guard for Moriarty. They then split, Sherlock making his way to go in through to the rest of the cinemas, just to make sure they were all totally alone. If not, then he would be able to take out anybody who was there.

John, meanwhile, had gone up the stairs to make his way towards the projector rooms, in order to find out which screen Katrina would be in without giving himself away. It was the one detail she had left out, because it would let him and Sherlock make sure anybody with a gun could be removed from the scene.

The only issue they actually had was leaving her alone with Moriarty, but Katrina said she'd be able to handle it herself. It had taken quite some time for her convince them, but in the end they gave in. Not only because they would have to leave her alone, but because they couldn't be too close by.

* * *

><p><em>9:55pm<em>

Sherlock had already knocked out one armed man, and was approaching the second stealthily from behind. He then tapped the man on the arm and he turned round, about to say something and shoot but not before Sherlock head butted him hard enough to render him unconscious. He shook his head, a little foggy himself but he carried on moving out and soon found himself in the main foyer, which was luckily completely empty. However it surprised the detective that it _was_ empty, because it was a cinema, after all. Moriarty must have done something, naturally.

The screen door were in his sights.

He knew exactly which one she was in.

However he couldn't go in there.

Not yet.

* * *

><p><em>10pm<em>

John was walking down the corridor, checking each of the doors to each of the rooms, because if anyone was inside, that would giveaway where Katrina and Moriarty were. It must have been the fifth door he tried, but the moment he entered he knew that he had found the right place.

A man with a rifle was aiming through a precisely cut hole in the projection room screen. John froze in his tracks, being aware that the man had not heard him open the door. However with a few steps into the room, he was caught out.

The man turned round and instead of coming shoot John, hit him round the back of the head with his fist.

A few moments later, a shot fired out.

* * *

><p><em>10:01pm<em>

"You could have just _listened_ to me," Jim said as he crouched over Katrina, taking the necklace from around her neck. "You could have just listened..."

Soon he had slunk back into the shadows and out of sight.

* * *

><p><em>10:02pm<em>

Sherlock was running – not towards the theatre screen up to the projector rooms, where he knew John would be. He saw the blogger-doctor lying in the doorway halfway down the corridor, and his running footsteps became even faster.

"John – John!" he managed roused his friend and helped him sit up. "John, what happened?"

"A man," he groaned, rubbing the side of his head. It was lucky it wasn't bleeding. "He- oh my god. Did he...?"

"Yes. He did."

* * *

><p><em>10:04pm<em>

Disorientated and lying on the floor, Katrina wasn't whether to scream or cry. Her head was swimming and her side was throbbing in pain, and she felt so physically sick that her gut was twisting. Where were Sherlock and John? They should be here by now, right? They would have heard that gunshot, yes?

At least this could be over now.

At least she wouldn't have to deal with her life being in danger anymore.

She would be left alone by the awful people of the criminal world.

Shakily, she put a hand to her side and it came away wet and warm. That was when the tears began to fall from her eyes, and that was when she heard the doors open.

"Sherlock..." she let out in a quiet voice. Katrina tried to sit up – a stupid thing to do – and let out a light shout as she fell backwards to the floor again. "Sherlock."

The pair of them skidded to her side, kneeling on the floor beside her. John unbuttoned her jacket and lifted up her shirt slightly in order to see the damage.

"I can't see much. We're going to have to move her. Call an ambulance."

"I can't- no..." she protested weakly as John went to her good side and slid his arm under her armpit and round her back, slowly beginning to lift her up. She whimpered in pain, but bit her lip to stop her self from screaming. Soon enough, Katrina was leaning against John, and Sherlock had called an ambulance. Upon seeing John struggle with the woman's weight a little, as she was using him as support more and more as each second passed when they were making their way towards the door, Sherlock promptly took John's place, holding onto her where possible as tightly as he could.

"Sherlock..." her head lolled against his shoulder as they tried to get through the foyer as quickly as possible.

"Shit, she's lost a lot of blood," John muttered as they entered more lit area.

"Sher... Sher..." she was on the verge of completely passing out against the tall detective as they exited the building, just as the sound of ambulance sirens came closer.

"No- _no_," he told Katrina as her legs buckled underneath her and she nearly brought him to the ground with her. But with the help of John, he was able to scoop her into his arms.

Soon enough the sirens were blaring loud and bright in front of them, and paramedics came out with a gurney, getting Sherlock to lie the woman on it, before taking her up into the vehicle and tending to her. Only one of them was allowed to get on, however.

"I'll take a cab," John said to Sherlock.

"What?"

"She was calling after you. Just go with her," the shorter man then went and hurriedly hailed down a cab, while Sherlock climbed into the back of the ambulance, sitting next to one of the paramedics, his eyes never leaving Katrina. She blearily reached out to take his hand, and so he allowed her to.

"Sherlock..." she repeated, a small smile on her face as she struggled to maintain consciousness for a few more seconds. "You're here."

"I'm here."

She was out like a light.

* * *

><p><strong>Welp. So I hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter is definitely going to be fluffy. So much fluff.<strong>

**-OL**


	11. Fairy Tales

**I've really gotten back into the swing of writing this story. All the ideas had always been there for the past two years, I just never ever wrote them down! I hope you enjoy this one. It's a lot of fluff, basically.**

* * *

><p>It had been at least three hours since they had arrived, and when the time had come, Sherlock had decided to let John talk to the doctors, while he stood in the waiting area, feeling glad that it was fairly empty. Then again, it was gone midnight and not many people would be visiting relatives. When he saw John coming back, he let out a breath and went towards his friend.<p>

"She's doing all right," John said to him straight away, cutting to the chase. "Bit of a blood loss, the bullet just about skimmed the bottom of her rib cage and missed her lung. She'll be fine. She's just come out of surgery so she's still under the anaesthetic, but she should wake up soon."

"Good."

John was silent for a moment.

"Good?"

"Yes. Good. Katrina's fine. You said so yourself," Sherlock said curtly, shoving his hands in his pocket.

"Okay then..." John gave him an odd look.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just... you carried her out of that building, and you went in the ambulance with her. Don't you want to go and see her for yourself?"

"No."

John sighed. Two months they'd known this woman, and yet Sherlock was still somewhat unaffected by her. At least, that was the vibe he gave off. John didn't know about Sherlock's thoughts on Katrina, and how she was more intriguing to him than he really let on.

"Well, I'm going to go and sit with her. Until she wakes up."

With those final words, he began to walk away from Sherlock, back the way he had come. After a few moments of deliberation, the consulting detective decided that he would in fact John his friend in seeing their... other friend. He had nothing else to do, after all. Well- he probably needed to talk to Lestrade about why Katrina was even shot in the first place, but the detective inspector had saved him that courtesy for another time. The man thought Sherlock would want to comfort his friend. _If_ Sherlock could even call Katrina a friend.

Was she a friend? Almost. She was his _almost_ friend. John was his friend. Katrina was... nearly there. In his mind, she was very nearly there. If he got to know her better soon enough, then she would definitely be his friend. It was definitely far too late to cast her out of his life now, because according to John, when you sleep with someone for an experiment, it wouldn't be nice to get rid of that experiment afterwards. Besides, Katrina proposed it. And he'd liked it.

There was also the fact that he still wanted to solve her mystery. Not that there was much of one. Well, besides her innocent ignorance which he'd already turned over once in his mind. She was also a likeable person, apart from when she got angry. Now that was just simply horrible. Maybe even verging on terrifying. Sherlock had never known someone to get so angry like she did.

So maybe – just maybe – she was already his friend.

Sherlock was snapped out of his thoughts as they entered the room in which Katrina was currently sleeping. It wasn't particularly nice to see her attached to at least three different machines, but at least she was without those god-awful oxygen masks. He simply stood staring at her as John went to pull up a chair next to the bed, which Sherlock didn't see the point in. She was most definitely one hundred percent out of it.

He studied her serene features and realised that perhaps she wasn't as out of it as he first originally thought, and she slowly opened her eyes. Bleary, tired and clearly in slight discomfort, the serenity was gone. Her eyes managed to find John's face and then his, acknowledging them both with a weary smile.

"Well that hurt," she murmured quietly, causing both the men to laugh, and Sherlock came closer, standing behind John.

"When a bullet hits the bottom of your ribcage and you lose a fair amount of blood, it's bound to hurt," Sherlock gave her all the facts, which seemed to confuse her for some time.

"Right..." she finally got it in the end. "Christ, breathing is painful."

"Breathing requires the expansion of your ribs."

"Yeah..." her eyelids were drooping closed again, and soon enough she was gone. John got up out of the chair and began to make his way to the door. He felt that if she was going to sleep properly now, there was no point in staying. He just wanted to make sure she was properly okay. When Sherlock didn't move, he turned back.

"You coming?"

"I'll be home later."

A smile came to John's face as he left the room. Sherlock took his place in the chair, and sat in the quiet of the room for a few moments.

"I know you're still awake," he smirked, and the woman opened her eyes again. "You wanted John to leave. Why?"

"I wanted to tell you thank you," she couldn't speak above a mutter, it seemed.

"You could have said it in front of John."

"No... no. You _carried_ me out of there, Sherlock. You came in the ambulance. You _let_ me hold your hand. You don't usually do that, so... so thank you."

He sat there, stunned for a moment, before giving her a small smile.

"You're welcome. You're... you're my friend. I like you. I'd probably do it again. I say probably because I don't think you want to get shot again."

She let out a chuckle then grimaced.

"Don't make me laugh. But I'm your friend?"

"Yes. You are. I've known you for two months, solved a case for-slash-with you and we both saw each other's naked bodies, so of _course_ we're friends," he replied, and now he had definitely set it in stone that they _were_ friends, and he couldn't back out of that. He hadn't done so with John, and he wouldn't do it with Katrina.

"Tell me a story, Sherlock."

"About...?" he was slightly confused by that. "And why?"

"Anything. And I like your voice. It's soothing."

"You think it'll help you sleep?"

"Yes," she gave him a light smile. Sherlock sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing one legs over the other and resting his hands in his lap.

"No. I don't tell stories."

"Please?"

"No."

"Sherlock..."

As soon as she said his name like that, all he could think of was when she had called out to him a few hours ago, and right now she had used the exact same tone of voice, despite not meaning to. It softened the detective, because she _was_ injured, and she had given him a compliment, which he had not exactly accepted.

"Fine. I hope you don't mind fairy tales..." he paused for a few seconds. "Once upon a time, there was a man. He wasn't a prince, he wasn't a king, but he acted like he was royalty anyway. He was arrogant, selfish, and he had a tendency to annoy everyone else in the world. One might say his heart was frozen. One day, he met a woman. Not just any woman. A princess. Perhaps she was a queen. She was the opposite of that man. She was clever, beautiful and someone who might have the potential to help him be rid of his arrogance. But above all, she was able to tolerate him enough to be his friend," Sherlock stopped momentarily, as Katrina had gone back to sleep, and properly at that. "She never knew that he thought she was brilliant, brave, kid and so much more than just being clever and beautiful. She didn't know that she was beginning to melt that ice. He didn't know if she ever would..."

He stopped again. Katrina was definitely asleep, so he got up and carefully pressed a kiss to Katrina's forehead.

"There was no telling if there would be a happy ending to it all."

He left, unsure as to whether he would return the next day.

* * *

><p>"Have you been up all night?" John asked as he came downstairs to find that Sherlock was still in the same outfit as the day before, sitting in his usual armchair, his fingers steepled in front of his chin.<p>

"It's day time? I only just got back home," Sherlock's head snapped towards John.

"No... no, it's ten in the morning. You got home at three. Bloody hell, you've been sitting there for seven hours straight?"

"Apparently so," he shrugged, watching John move into the kitchen. "Black, two sugars."

"Make your own tea or coffee," he grumbled in response. "But what kept you up?"

"When will Katrina be able to come home?"

"Umm... in about a week or two. Why?" John was smiling to himself as he opened the cupboard and pulled out a mug.

"Curious. Hospitals are terrible places to spend a prolonged amount of time. Nothing interesting. Maybe I should take her a book or two..." he added, more as an after thought.

"You're- you're going to visit Katrina again?"

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I?" Sherlock frowned at John, going to put on his scarf and coat. "She's our friend."

"Oh so she _is_ your friend now? Definitely?"

"Stop smirking about it and don't even _think_ about texting Lestrade. Actually, _do_ text him, he needs to know why Katrina was shot and that the case is now officially closed."

"All right... where are you going?"

"I have things I need to do," Sherlock said as he shut the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Over the next week, whenever Sherlock would go to visit Katrina during the night – although not as late as when she had been admitted to hospital – he'd bring her something different. First, it was a book. A book he had deduced was her favourite. Well, it was a play, technically, and that play was <em>The Tempest<em> by William Shakespeare. Then he just kept bringing more books. _Game of Thrones, _followed by _Pride and Prejudice_. _Hamlet._ He knew it was the sort of thing that people did, when their friends were recovering from... whatever injury or illness they possessed.

Katrina had complained a bit that that four books was a bit much, and so at one point he brought a packet of cards, as for something for the pair of them to do. Except the time he had brought them was before she could even sit up properly without hurting herself. Eventually she was able to, and one night at ten o'clock, they were both sitting cross-legged on her bed, playing a game of Rummy. Sherlock kept on winning. As per usual.

"How? How do you know which cards I'm getting and then change your tactics?" she asked him, a small pout on her face.

"I've had this cards since I was a teenager. I've memorised the backs of each and every one of them," he responded as he put down his winning hand. Katrina scowled at him as she put her cards down, three away from completion.

"That's cheating."

"That's observation," he quipped. She shook her head as Sherlock gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them again for another game. "Another game?"

"No. I think I'm done with playing cards for the night... Sherlock... why don't you come visit me when John does?"

His shuffling slowed down as his eyes dropped to look at them, as if they were more interesting than the person sitting in front of him. He wasn't sure how to answer that question, without sounding arrogant, sounding like an idiot or clingy, in fact. A slight furrow came to his brow as he thought and thought of the best way to answer Katrina. Why did he visit her on his own? Was he worried about her? Perhaps. But he wouldn't let _that_ emotion cloud his reason. What was a good reason for him to come and see her at night? Him being unable to sleep? No. To make sure she was safe? That seemed reasonable enough... and it was true.

"I... well... places like this aren't the best, are they? They're not interesting, or fun, and being in a room like this means you don't have your friends with you all the time, yes?"

She nodded.

"To know you are safe here is what counts to both me and John. Hence why I come visit at night. So I'm the last face you see and that way I can hope you at least feel safer after my coming here," he glanced up briefly, to see she was smiling at him. "What?"

"That's awfully sweet of you, Sherlock."

"No it's not! It's logical," he protested, sitting up straight again.

"Whatever you say," Katrina then yawned. "I might get some sleep now, so do you mind-?"

"Oh!" Sherlock hurriedly got off the bed and hastily put all the cards back into their box before shoving it in his jacket pocket. He then helped Katrina lie down with ease, and she gave him a quiet 'thank you' after he did so. As he was pulling on his coat, she brought up something else entirely.

"I heard the entirety of your little story the other night."

Sherlock froze.

"I know who it was about."

"Clearly," he said stiffly. She wasn't supposed to have heard the whole of the story, especially not the ending.

It wasn't like he had shown her his heart, by saying that to her, he had just shown her merely the beginning of the thoughts that had often crossed his mind about her. It was just terrifying to know that she had _heard_ him.

"Do you think there'll be a happy ending?"

He looked back at her, adjusting his coat.

"As far as I know, life isn't a fairy tale. There are no happy endings. But everyone tries, _people_ try... _I try..._"

"You're not like everyone else, Sherlock," Katrina mumbled. "While sometimes, it's good to be like everyone else _for_ everyone else, you're better off being you. Maybe you'll find your own version of a happy ending. I could... I could help you. If you wanted an ending with somebody, then I could help you find that."

"Maybe," he _almost_ smirked at her. _Almost._ And she knew it, because she just winked at him. "Good night, Katrina."

He went and opened the door to the corridor, and he had barely taken a step out when something hit him and he had to turn back to Katrina.

"We just flirted, didn't we?"

"So the detective _is_ learning about normal human interaction," she replied, amused.

"Only because I know about it from you."

"I was actually doing a bit more than _just_ flirting."

"No you weren't."

"Yes I was."

"No you weren't."

"Yes I was."

"No you-"

"Sherlock Holmes! When I get out of hospital will you go out to dinner with me?" Katrina burst out, and she smacked her hand over her mouth.

"_What?"_ was all the stunned detective could say.

* * *

><p><strong>See? I told you it was fluff. To make up for a near enough two year absence and for the near-death in the last chapter.<strong>

**-OL**


	12. Many Secrets

**Thanks for all the comments, favourites and follows! I must say, I had a lot of fun with this chapter... no, I really did.**

* * *

><p>"John... What do people do on dates?"<p>

"They usually go out and- wait, what?!" John put down the newspaper he was reading, looking at Sherlock, quite startled. "Are you considering asking out Katrina?"

"No."

"Then why are you...?"

"She asked me out. For when she's out of the hospital," he told his friend calmly, before getting back to his toast.

"Right. So... why did she ask you?"

"Apparently we flirted."

"Apparently?"

"John," Sherlock sighed. "I am... not someone who dates or flirts. You know I usually say I'm married to my work, and I still remain that I am."

"Yes, I know..." he lifted his newspaper again to carry on reading. "Are you at least considering it?"

"No."

"Okay."

Before the conversation could come to a proper end, there was a rapping on the door before Mrs Hudson popped her head, an uncertain smile on her face.

"Sherlock, your brother's here," she said, opening the door wider so that Mycroft Holmes could stroll in, umbrella and all, as ever with an unimpressed look upon his face. "Can I get you anything, Mycroft?" she asked him sweetly.

"No thank you, Mrs Hudson, I'm not going to be long..." He glanced back at her and she left hurriedly, shutting the door behind her.

"What are you doing here, dear brother of mine?" Sherlock asked him a little sarcastically.

"Where's Miss Jenkins?"

"I asked first."

"But my question answers why I'm here," he gave Sherlock a snide look. "Where is Miss Jenkins?"

"The Royal London Hospital."

"Why is she there?"

"She was shot."

"Sherlock Holmes, I _did_ tell you..." Mycroft's unimpressed expression seemed to grow even more unimpressed, if that was actually possible.

"Her fault, not mine," Sherlock shrugged, finishing his toast and going to pick up his violin. "Well, not _really_ her fault, but she wanted to sort it out and so we let her."

"I'm surprised you caved for her."

"Have you ever seen Katrina when she's angry?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, beginning to play badly on purpose. Mycroft winced at the terrible violin.

"No. I have not. I don't plan to, either. So what are you going to do now that the case is over? Will you still associate with Miss Jenkins?"

"I believe that is none of your business," he slid his bow over a particularly high and squeaky note, making even John have a face of distaste.

"Oh dear lord, what have you done?"

"He slept with her," John stated. One look from Mycroft told him that he clearly wasn't believed on the matter. "No, seriously, he did."

"Well this concludes my visit then," he forced a smile.

"Don't come again," Sherlock also forced a smile at his brother.

"Good day to you," Mycroft had turned on his heel and was already leaving, ignoring Sherlock's last comment. As soon as the detective was certain that his brother was well and truly gone, he put down the violin.

"I think Katrina's going to get an unwanted visitor in hospital."

"You don't say..." John sighed.

* * *

><p>Katrina was sitting up in bed, working her way through <em>Game of Thrones<em>, when a woman came hurrying into her room. Upon seeing who it was, Katrina sighed and marked her place with a bookmark, before setting it down.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a raised eyebrow as the woman sat down in the chair.

"Is it so bad that I want to see my own sister after she's been shot?"

Katrina was silent for a moment.

"_Yes_, especially if they've not talked for a few years and the last time they saw each other was at their parents' funeral," she scowled at her. "Seriously, Isabella, how did you even find out?"

"Central London isn't as big as everyone says it is," she rolled her eyes.

Isabella Jenkins was six years younger than her sister, had blue eyes instead of green, shoulder-length auburn hair instead of nearly elbow-length brown hair, and had a more plump face. They didn't exactly get on so well, which wasn't the most normal thing for the twenty-five year old and thirty-one year old siblings. They were adults, but had a petty sibling rivalry that was perhaps worse than that of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.

"You've seen me with Sherlock, haven't you?"

"I'm not even surprised you're hanging around with him. Angry sister and supposed sociopathic detective. Works quite well, if you ask me," Isabella stated matter of factly. "have you slept with him?"

"Oh my _god_, get the hell _out_," Katrina gritted her teeth.

"You have!" Isabella looked quite shocked, but pleased she had figured it out. "Wow. Must work _really_ well. Tell me if you two end up getting married or have a kid or something. I'd like to see the wedding. Or the product of your sexual interludes. I'd be an aunt if that happened."

"And a very rubbish aunt at that..." she muttered under her breath. "And I thought family visits were supposed to make people feel better," she said louder.

"My brother thinks the exact same thing," came Mycroft's voice from the doorway. Katrina's face fell.

"Really? You're here too?"

"Who the hell are you?" Isabella turned to Mycroft as he strolled in.

"Isabella Jenkins, I presume?"

"How do you-?!"

"He just does. Accept it and move on," Katrina waved it off. "Mycroft, meet my sister. Don't tell Sherlock, because I'd rather tell him."

"Tell me what?" came the deep, throaty of Sherlock as he came inside.

"Sherlock, meet my sister," Katrina pointed at Isabella in the chair. "Isabella."

"You've got a sister?"

"Yes."

"How did I not get that? God, there's always _something_!" he looked mildly irritated with himself.

"Basically, I really hate her."

"Watch it flame-head," Isabella scowled at her.

"Says the one with father's auburn hair," Katrina quipped smoothly. "This is a very comedic scene, I must say. Also, Sherlock, I know you clearly followed Mycroft here and I actually appreciate it because I'm pretty sure he's still not calling me Katrina and it just sounds weird when _he_ calls me 'Miss Jenkins.'"

"You're welcome," Sherlock said, if not really meaning it.

An awkward silence fell across the room.

"Get out Isabella."

"Fine by me. Just let me know if you two get married or have babies. I will hold you to that," she then got up and left without a goodbye. Sherlock and Mycroft were just as confused as each other.

"Well. That's my sister."

"You're both extremely immature around each other," Mycroft pointed out.

"And you two aren't?" Katrina gave Mycroft a very pointed look and he stared at the ground. "I thought as much. Mycroft, don't scold Sherlock for not listening to you, he actually saved my life when it comes down to it. You'll be pleased to know I'll be out of here in three days time, and that is all you need to know. Now, would you get out too?"

Slowly but surely, Mycroft stalked out of the room in complete silence. Sherlock shot Katrina a surprised look.

"I wasn't aware you were so commanding."

"Oh please, yes you do and you personally enjoy it when I command _you_."

It was Sherlock's turn to glance somewhere other than Katrina.

"Oh my god, you're _blushing_."

"No. No I'm not. You never told me you had a sister!" he hastily changed the topic.

"Like I said. I'm not a fan of her. There's literally no semblance of love between us. At least you and Mycroft have a small amount of that."

Sherlock nodded, and took off his coat, and draped it across the chair, sitting cross-legged on the bed, forcing Katrina to do the same thing. He pulled out the packet of cards from his jacket.

"Now, I'm going to teach you how to play poker..."

* * *

><p>"I'm surprised Sherlock didn't come and fetch me," Katrina said to John as they rode in the taxicab back to Baker Street. He let out a chuckle.<p>

"Not really his thing. Visiting? Yes. Collecting? No. Anyway, glad to be out of there?"

"Oh god, yes. They're not fun places to be, y'know. I mean, I know you're doctor and have probably worked in hospitals before, but..."

"It's not the greatest place in the world to be stuck for two weeks."

"Nope."

"Either way, you're alive."

"I'm alive and they've given me pain medication, just in case. Although if anything does happen, at least I know I'm in safe hands," she smiled at him.

"That is very true," John smiled back at her, just as they pulled up outside 221B. Getting out of the cab, the smile on Katrina's face grew broader. It was good to see a familiar place. Not her home, but it was close enough to be her home, since she'd stayed there for a while. She paused for a moment before going up the steps, turning to John just after he paid the driver.

"Sherlock's not blown up anything, has he?"

"Nope."

"Any experiments in the bathroom?"

"None as of yet."

"Experiments in the kitchen sink?"

"No, but there is a foot in the fridge. Might be the freezer, I'm not."

"What about the bedroom?"

"What?!"

"No! No, not like that!" Katrina face palmed. "I just meant is the room still habitable?"

"So far, yes," John then made his way up the steps and unlocked the door, Katrina following him a little slower. "By the way, he's missed you."

"Really?" she raised an eyebrow, and John stopped for a moment and spoke in a low voice.

"He's written a new song on the violin and he actually sleeps a lot more than he used to. He likes your company but won't admit it."

"That _might_ explain why he's been playing card games with me."

"Did he teach you poker?"

"A few days ago."

John was silent for a moment.

"Yeah. He's missed you," he carried on walking, making his way up to the flat, Katrina going after him feeling sightly somewhat accomplished, smug and confused.

Upon entering the flat, she nearly walked into John who was staring at somebody sitting in the red armchair, and when Katrina saw who it was, she groaned.

"What are you doing here?" she asked Isabella, after walking past John to approach her sister. Sherlock was sitting in the blue armchair, as ever, staring out into space with his fingers steepled slightly in front of his lips.

"I came to give you a little welcome back home. Also to ask you a favour," she shrugged in response.

"Err, who's this?" John asked.

"Isabella Jenkins, meet Doctor John Watson," Sherlock said.

"J-Jenkins?" naturally, he was a little bit shocked. "She's your sister?"

"Younger sister by six years," Katrina stated, before rounding on Isabella once more. "If I grant you a favour, will you leave?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Good. What do you want?"

"I need to borrow your flat for a while."

"Why?" she raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Well, _you're_ not living there at the moment despite the fact you're still paying the rent. I got kicked out by the landlord."

"Are you kidding me? So you're coming to sponge off of me?" Katrina was becoming more incredulous by the second. "We _never_ talk to each other and you think it's all right to just come and ask me for a favour as big as that?!"

"I thought you might–"

"Well, you thought _wrong_," she glared. "As per usual."

"John, we should probably..." Sherlock rose from his seat and began to walk into the kitchen, pulling his companion along with him. They slid the doors shut. Even Sherlock could see the warning signs and hear the bells that came with them.

"Why are you suddenly trying to so hard to be talkative with me?" Katrina asked, a bit more calmly. "And if you give me the 'family is precious' crap I will get pissed off even more than I already am."

"I just– I got really worried when I found out you were shot," the younger Jenkins said with sincerity. "I mean that."

"I find that really hard to believe," Katrina shook her head, going to sink down into Sherlock's chair. "Considering the fact the last time I saw you, you _did_ push me down the stairs."

"That was _seven_ years ago!"

"And it _really_ fucking hurt," she spat back in a low voice.

"Well you made me angry."

"Because you made _me_ angry," she rolled her eyes. "You kept on provoking me about my work and my life and _of course_ I was going to throw it back at you but you did _not_ need to push me down the stairs on New Year's Eve and tell mum and dad that I tripped due to have a bit too much to drink. You just couldn't shatter their vision of you being an angel."

"You were always a bitch to me, though. You kind of had it coming to you."

"And you were always a compulsive liar. You were also the apple of our parents' eyes when you came along and I was brushed to the side. _You_ had the bitchiness coming to you."

"You were jealous, weren't you?"

"If we have to keep talking about this, I'll push _you_ down the stairs and tell Sherlock and John you tripped," Katrina said with absolute calm and a straight face. "I know they can hear every word we're saying but they're going to listen to me otherwise I'll take the foot out of the fridge and hide it somewhere else, as well as put a red sock in with the whites."

"John don't let her near the fridge," Sherlock's slightly worried voice came from the kitchen, and Katrina smirked. Isabella was staring down at her lap – not worried, not scared, just calculating what she could possibly say next.

"So. You want to stay in my flat?" Katrina then asked her.

"Yes," she looked up.

"How long?"

"A month or two."

"Fine," Katrina pulled the keys out of her jacket pocket and chucked them at her sister, who managed to catch them without fumbling. "Two months is long enough for you to get a job and sort out your life without interfering with mine?"

She nodded.

"Good. You'll pay me back all the money?"

"Yes."

"Brilliant. Get out," Katrina nodded towards the door.

"Gladly," Isabella got up and began making her way to the door.

"And yes, I will tell you if I ever get married or have children. Although you'd still be a terrible aunt."

"Fair enough."

She was gone.

The kitchen doors slid open, and Sherlock and John tentatively came back into the living room.

"Out of my chair," Sherlock said.

"Nope," Katrina crossed one leg over the over. "I'm quite comfortable here."

"...Okay."

"So that was your sister?" John came over to Katrina, handing her a cup of tea. She was slightly startled by that factor, but accepted it all the same.

"Yep. I hate her."

"And I thought Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship was bad..."

"They have love in their sibling bond. We don't," Katrina's face fell as she sipped on the tea.

"Christ, I'm sorry," John replied, sinking into his red armchair while Sherlock went to sit at the desk, getting out the laptop. "So... when you say you hate her, you really mean that?"

"Let's put it this way: I really wish she had never been born."

"Wow."

"Katrina, what did your parents think of you? You've not exactly mourned them very much since the funeral," Sherlock piped up.

"They loved me, but they loved her more. She could do nothing wrong, and I was a bad example, apparently."

"Really? How?"

"No idea. I was just a bit bossy, I guess, having been an only child for six years. They didn't like my selfishness."

"Right. Anything else?"

"I hate all of my living family."

"I think that was a given," John pointed out, and Katrina let out a light laugh.

"Oh yeah... anyway, let's get off this topic, shall we? How about a game of poker?"

"Regular or strip?" Sherlock asked, as he typed away at something. John's face turned slightly pink.

"Regular."

"Wait, why did he just ask that?" John was beginning to look horrified.

"Oh, I may have said that we should learn to play strip poker when I got out. I can guarantee he's looking up the rules of it now."

"No I'm not," Sherlock said.

"Yes you are, I had a compulsive liar as a sister, don't think you can lie to me."

It was Sherlock's turn to blush.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes. Katrina has a sister. Ever since I started this out two years ago, I always knew she would. You'll see more of her in later chapters, I think. Also there is a massive temptation to write a Shertrina strip poker game, haha.<strong>

**Review?**

**-OL**


	13. An Interlude

**Another filler chapter, I guess, but it's a little bit important. Ish. Then the next chapter sees a new mystery, which I am very excited about because... well, you'll find out why!**

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><p>There would be some nights where everybody would sleep well, but then some nights where they were all borderline insomniacs, and that was mainly Sherlock's fault. He had developed a habit of waking up and playing the violin at two in the morning for an hour before going back to sleep. So John had taken to staying awake until that time. At first, it had been forced, but after a week or so it had become easier and easier to stay up until three in the morning, all so that they didn't have an interrupted sleep.<p>

"Seriously, I can take the sofa so he isn't tempted to play the violin at a stupid hour," Katrina suggested. "I'm only the guest here"

"Which is exactly why you can't have the sofa: you're the guest," John replied, and Katrina rolled her eyes.

"I'm kicking Sherlock out of his own bed."

"And _that_ is a sentence I'm going to treasure forever," John laughed, typing away at something on his blog.

"I'm still going to sleep on the sofa..."

"You're so stubborn."

"And you're overly British," she retorted, coming over to see what he was typing. "'_The Diamond Girl.'_ Really, John?"

"Oi! It's one of the better titles I've come up with – which is why I've not written it up yet."

"What were the other ones?" she eyed him suspiciously.

"You... you don't want to know," he said slowly.

"John Hamish Watson, I swear to–"

"Fine. One of the potential titles was _'Bejewelled' _– like that game, you know? – and the other one had something more to do with what you and Sherlock did, really."

She smacked him on the head lightly.

"Was that really necessary?!"

"Yes it was," Katrina said after a moment, then there was a buzzing and she grabbed her phone off of the table, reading the text on it. She then sighed.

"What is it?"

"Sherlock's had a bit of an accident at the lab," she said, going to grab her coat and pulling it on.

"Oh my god! Is he all right?"

"I think so. Going by what Molly said in the text, he knocked over some acid and got it on his laptop and one of his hands. I have to go pick him up," she began making her way over to the door.

"Why are you picking him up? You're not his mother – he can just get a cab."

"Here," Katrina turned back and chucked John her phone, so that he could read the text.

_Sherlock got acid on his hand and laptop._

_Somehow knocked it over._

_He's being very insistent on being picked up by you..._

–_MH_

"Blimey," John tossed the phone back to her.

"I know. So, basically, I'm picking him up because I'm a halfway-nice person. Also, I'm glad I'm not his mother because that would mean he'd have a _slight_ Oedipus complex..." with those final words, Katrina left John feeling vaguely disgusted.

She hurried on down to her motorbike – which she had not been on for quite some time – and pulled on her helmet, going to start it up and weave her way through the London traffic towards St Bart's, just to pick up Sherlock Holmes, who incidentally, was the most childish man in the universe. He really was. Refusing to get a cab because he messed up his laptop and maybe had mild burns on his hand. Very mild burns. Katrina hoped Molly had patched him up a little by the time she got there.

After pulling up outside the hospital, Katrina just about remembered the way to the laboratory near the morgue, and went inside to find Sherlock pacing and complaining, his coat and scarf already on. She sighed when she him, and felt the smallest amount of sympathy for his slightly red and swollen left hand. As soon as the detective saw her, he stopped in his pacing, and handed her his acid-damaged laptop.

"Fix it for me."

"What?" Katrina pretty much dropped it to the bench as quickly as she could. "No! I'm not touching that thing until it's been neutralised."

"Already done."

"Great, but you spilled _acid_ on it. It's a corrosive."

He frowned at her.

"I know that. But I also know you're good with computers."

"Oh my god, have you been looking me up?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. You took a GCSE equivalent of Computing in 2008 and came out with the equivalent with an A-star. Two years later, you somehow managed to take an International Baccalaureate equivalent in higher level Computer Science and came out with a level seven. Fix. My. Laptop," he demanded. A childish man indeed.

"You want me to take apart your laptop, save your files onto an external hard drive and manually repair your laptop?" she clarified.

"Yes."

"You better pay me."

"...Fine. How much?"

"What's the normal rate for a fix like this?"

"Something along the lines of more than eight hundred pounds," piped up Molly, who was at the computer at the other side of the room.

"Brilliant. I'll let you decide the amount after I've fixed your laptop."

"Really?" Sherlock was a little bit surprised.

"Hmm mm. Come on, clumsy," Katrina began to leave, and Sherlock picked up his laptop, following her, as he put it in a case.

"I knew there was a reason why you always took office jobs."

"You just didn't know the reason?"

"Of course I knew the reason. I've seen your curriculum vitae, have I not? You've been a qualified ICT technician for more than two years. And you're very good at what you do, but you hide away a lot with it."

"Well, ordinary people are slow, irritating and make me angry," she pointed out as they came onto the street.

"Ahh yes. That temper of yours has been in check lately," Sherlock smirked, hauling the laptop case over his shoulder and picking up one of the helmets on the back of Katrina's bike. "Although when your sister came to visit the other week, you very nearly lost it."

"Hmm, well, she's an irritating person," she murmured.

"There's more to it, isn't there?"

"Actually, there really isn't. I told you everything after she left," Katrina shrugged. "Now... why did you want me to pick you up? You could have gotten a cab."

"Experiment."

"Er...?"

"An experiment to see if you would actually come. Conclusion: your emotion overrode you reason."

"Great, Sherlock, just _great_..."

* * *

><p>While John was making sure that the burns on Sherlock's hand really weren't that bad, Katrina had already set about taking apart the laptop, laying out each piece on the floor before her. She then sat on the floor cross-legged and stared at them intently for quite some time, eventually causing Sherlock to come over and sit down next to her. It was fascinating. He could pretty much hear the cogs in her brain working round and round, trying to determine which of the inner parts of the laptop were still keepable and which parts would have to be replaced, and how much it would cost to do so. The detective too stared at the pieces, mirroring her exact position next to her. John glanced between the two of them, and decided to just leave for a couple of hours.<p>

"Well you're going to need a new battery," she stated, making Sherlock jump.

_So that's what that felt like._

"Make two piles," Katrina continued on. "Put the things that need replacing on John's chair, and the things that are keepable on your chair."

Sherlock just looked at her weirdly.

"Well do it then. Battery's there," she pointed at the long block furthest from her, and Sherlock went to go and carefully move it to John's chair. He then stood patiently, waiting for her next command.

"Hard drive – put it on your chair. We need to recover the data from that. It's-"

"I know what a hard drive looks like," Sherlock rolled his eyes, but moved it anyway.

"Keep the keyboard. Hmm... keep the modular bay device and the memory module cover," she carried on. "Keep the speaker and the antenna. Oh, and the modem and network connector covers. Keep the main laptop cover display, the centre control cover and the palm rest. Everything else we'll have to get new. It's too risky to even keep. I mean, we could just get you a new laptop, but you'd rather keep the salvageable, yes?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Anything else?" he asked her, after putting the damaged parts on John's chair, and all the more useful parts on his chair.

"Kiss me," she muttered.

"What?" his eyes widened.

"Nothing."

"No... you said for me to kiss you," he came and sat opposite Katrina, but on his knees this time, and not mirroring her cross-legged position.

"All right. I said for you to kiss me."

"Why?"

"Does there have to be a reason?"

"Yes."

"Why does there have to be a reason?" she countered him.

"Reason is everything," Sherlock murmured, running a hand through his unruly curls. "Reason is how I make my deductive and inductive observations. It's what allows me to do my work," he paused for a moment. "There are four main principals in regards to how we know things. They are sense perception, reason, language and emotion. A very large majority of the time I use my sense perception to observe what goes on around me, all day, every day, and then I use reason to determine why something is what it is."

"Okay... but what about language and emotion?"

"Language can be misinterpreted far too easily. That's why I don't like using written words far too much. Emotion... emotion is a hinderance to me. Because within emotion you have intuition, and intuition is that gut feeling you have. That gut feeling will betray you, because it can lead you to do that wrong thing. It's impulsive. It obstructs your reason and logic, and so I detach myself from emotion because I don't want to be obtruded. My work is my life, Katrina, and without it I delve deep into things even you wouldn't dare touch. Reason is everything to me. So I will as you again: why do you want to kiss me?" he had said it all so very quickly, and was staring at her dead straight in the eye. Katrina thought carefully about her answer before actually telling him anything.

"I want to kiss you, because I _want_ to kiss you. I have a strange sort of attraction to you, because you're so unimpressed and unobstructed by emotion, it seems like being attracted to you would be a hard thing to do. Surprisingly, it's the fact you're so passionate about your work that _makes_ you attractive to me. You're openly passionate about solving crimes. I'm quietly passionate about computers. It's sweet to see someone so into something," she gave a small smile. "Why do you think I don't lose my temper with you so often? You know for a fact that I have a habit of doing just that with near enough anyone else, except for you and John. I see something in the pair of you that a part of me likes. It might be the danger that probably quells the anger, because I'm turning it into something else."

"You're guided by emotion, but you use it in a logical way..." Sherlock titled his head to the side as he studied her. "I've never known anyone to do that so fluidly."

"Well, there you have it, then. So... can I kiss you?"

"If you want to," Sherlock rolled his eyes as the subject matter was brought back to what it was originally about. "Shouldn't there be a moment, or something like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Usually there's a build up of... tension, and then there's a kiss. Like that time you were in my dressing gown and got on my lap."

"No, there doesn't have to be a moment. It can be an impulsive thing," she shrugged.

"And there's intuition in a nutshell," he smirked at her.

It was then that Katrina came forward and gently pressed her lips to Sherlock's, shocking the detective ever so slightly. Sometimes, Katrina forgot that Sherlock was in fact a normal human being, and therefore was surprised herself to find his lips were warm. His personality could be so cold and calculating at times, it was easy to forget he had a beating heart that pumped blood around his body.

She didn't kiss him for long, however, because John came back in and they broke apart, Katrina looking pretty smug and Sherlock absolutely stock still.

"I thought you were going to be longer," Katrina said.

"It's been over an hour, and there's only so much you can do without cash," John went to go and sit in his chair, but sighed when he saw the laptop pieces. "Can you move these? Preferably before you have sex in the living room?"

He then wandered into the kitchen, muttering about them having no decency among other things. Katrina raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

"So..." she began to whisper. "How long are we going to keep letting John think we actually had _proper_ sex a few weeks ago?"

"As long as we want to," Sherlock winked at her and jumped up, going over to the chair and picking up all the laptop parts that needed replacing. "Got a box?"

* * *

><p><strong>Yep. I played you all with that bath tub chapter. I played. You. ALL. Anyway, review?<strong>

**-OL**


	14. On Philosophical Tracks: Quintuple

**New mystery! Which funnily enough emphasises on some of the stuff that Sherlock said to Katrina at the end of the last chapter...**

* * *

><p>Two days later, Sherlock got a text he had been waiting for, for quite sometime at that too. Eagerly, he picked up his phone and read the text, grinning from ear to ear after doing so.<p>

"What's got you all so happy?" Katrina asked, looking up from the laptop she was still putting together.

"There's been a murder. Five of them. All at once," he pocketed his phone and pulled on his scarf and coat.

"Five murders all at once?" Katrina raised an eyebrow, putting down the screwdriver. "Whereabouts are we talking?"

"Train station. You coming?"

"Do I have to?"

"I'm paying you over a thousand pounds to fix my laptop," he pointed out, and she sighed.

"Fine. I'll come if John does too."

"Oh, but he _always_ comes," Sherlock beckoned her and she put on her shoes and coat, going to follow the detective as he called up the stairs for John. When the ex-army doctor came down, the three of them headed out of the flat and to the street, Sherlock hailing down a taxi. They clambered into the back of it, Sherlock giving the driver the destination.

"Did Lestrade give any details?" John asked. "Besides the fact there were five murders at a train station – which one was it, by the way?"

"Tube junction, to be more accurate. It was at the crossing between the Northern line and the Victoria line at Warren Street," he replied. "Five murders all at once..." he then mused. "How someone was able to pull that off – but if it was at a train junction... they must have been hit by a train. How is it that Lestrade was able to determine it was a murder?"

"Are you suggesting it was a mass suicide?" Katrina pulled a face. "A group of friends, maybe, committing suicide together?"

"It's not uncommon," John said. "People can do those sorts of things, but it's just hard to understand why."

The rest of the journey went on in silence, and eventually they pulled up to the Warren Street tube station, where the police had sealed off the entrance, not allowing any of the angry, desperate commuters through. However, when they saw Sherlock, John and Katrina, they allowed them through, and on their way down the steps they met up with Lestrade.

"We've had to close off the entire Northern and Victoria lines until we can get the bodies moved," he explained as they came to the tracks, dropping down onto them. "We've cut off the electricity too."

They continued to follow him, through the now-lit tube tunnel and out the other side into the open, close to the junction where the different commuter lines crossed. They were led right to the crime scene, where five people lay, tied up and disfigured. No wonder Lestrade had called it a murder. The tube train itself was some way off in the distance, having been stopped.

Off to the side, Sergeant Donovan was chatting to a couple, both the man and woman looking visibly shaken, the man even more so. Katrina was curious as to what they had to do with any of this, but she realised she would find out later on. At the current moment, Sherlock was examining the bodies, now knowing why it was a murder. There wasn't much for him to even go on, and he admitted that. They had been run down by a train, and there was nothing that connected them.

John had no need to look at the bodies. The cause of death was obvious.

So now it was Katrina's turn.

With a gentle nudge from Sherlock, she went towards the bodies, and he came with her.

"Why am I doing this?" she hissed at him. "I'm not a detective. I'm a technician."

"You can read lines of computer and be able to find any problems in it. You have keen eyes."

"Are you suggesting you might have missed something?" she asked him, amusement clear in her voice.

"No. I'm suggesting you might find a spare detail," he rolled his eyes at her. "Get to it. We've got a case to solve."

"All right, all right..." Katrina began to move about the bodies, not particularly enjoying as much as Sherlock would have done and with significantly less gusto than he, searching for something, anything that might give them a lead. At the moment, it looked like there had just been a placement of bodies to be hit by a train. In fact, she began to wonder if there had been any signs of struggle from them in the first place...

"John?" she called back over her shoulder, and the doctor came over to her. "Are you sure you don't need to have a look?"

"I don't need to determine the cause of–"

"No, I know you don't, but... they're tied up."

"Yes, I get that – oh. _Oh,_" upon realising what she meant, John crouched down and began an even closer inspection of one of the bodies, and noticed a little puncture mark on the victim's neck. "They were sedated," he said as he stood up.

"What?" Sherlock came over to the body they were standing by. "They were _sedated_?"

"Look at all of their necks," John then said. "See? You did miss something."

"He also missed something else as well," Katrina bent down and pulled an unused tissue out of her pocket, picking up what she found with it. "A note."

"Give it to me," Sherlock commanded, since he had latex gloves on. Katrina handed it over to him., and he read it.

_Do you know the story of the fat man on the bridge?_

"What the hell?" John frowned as he read it, while Sherlock looked up, seeing a bridge nearby running overhead. "What is that even supposed to mean?"

"Is it a really crap riddle, by any chance?" Katrina asked, and Sherlock immediately turned away from them, heading back to Lestrade who was now with Donovan and Anderson.

"No. It's not a riddle. It's philosophy," Sherlock stated as they finally approached the Soctland Yard trio. Lestrade grabbed one of the bags they used for evidence and Sherlock dropped the note in it. "Do you know the story of the fat man on the bridge?" he repeated.

"What?" Lestrade looked confused.

"It was on that note there," Sherlock turned to Donovan. "Those people you were interviewing, was the man tied to the other track and did the woman have to pull a lever presented to her?"

"Err... yeah. Yeah, that's exactly what... how did you know that?" Donovan looked very suspicious.

"This is a philosophy story about morals."

"And what do you know about morals?" Anderson input.

"He probably knows more about morals than the people who call him 'freak,'" Katrina then said, and the two of them paid rapt attention to Sherlock as he started speaking.

"There's a train track with five people on it. There's another track coming off of the main one with another person tied to it. There's a lever, and if you pull the lever, the train will divert down the side track and kill the one person. You don't know about that one person, however. Don't pull the lever and five people die. Which would you choose?" Sherlock then asked them all. "Don't think about the answer, what would you gut tell you to choose?"

"The lever," the five of them answered in unison.

"And clearly the woman didn't pull the lever, because he husband was tied to the track," Sherlock then glanced at Katrina. "See? Emotion. Leads to all the wrong things, sometimes. In this case, the deaths of five people."

"The needs of the few outweigh the needs of the one," she replied.

"Is that _Star Trek_?" John asked.

"Yes. But it's relevant, if you think about it."

"If you two could shut up about trivial science fiction films, I could get to the point of where the fat man comes into it," Sherlock snapped, before calming down a little. "Then the next problem doesn't even involve the track down the side. You still have five people on the track, but instead there is a very fat man on a bridge. The train is approaching and you can either push the fat man off so his weight _stops_ the train to prevent the five people from dying. Would you?"

"No," they answered again in unison.

"But if the man was conveniently standing on a trap door and you had to pull the lever for it to open and for him to drop through and stop the train... would you?"

Everybody except Katrina answered no.

"Why would you do it?"

"Because I'm not physically pushing him off of the bridge... so there wouldn't be any emotional impact on me, since I'm not actually pushing him, I'm just pulling a lever," Katrina explained slowly. Sherlock gave her a rare smile.

"You've learnt something about the use of emotion within this situation, but now you have questionable morals."

"I always had questionable morals," she murmured.

"Carrying on..." Sherlock just ignored her. "There's a third one as well. The same five people tied to the track, but then the side track loops _back round_ to the original track. On the side track, a very fat man is tied, and his weight would stop the train. Would you pull that lever to divert the train?"

The outcome was the same as before.

"Katrina has the same reasoning as she did with her previous answer. But the rest of you would kill five people, just to save one man, because you know what pulling the lever would do. If anything, you lot have worse morals than Katrina."

"How is this even a test of morals anyway?" John asked. Sherlock sighed, shaking his head.

"It must be wonderful in your brains... so slow, so dull... it's a test of morals, because of the fact when presented with the situation and you know what pulling the lever would do in two out of four situations, you wouldn't pull the lever. You'd rather kill five people because you'd feel bad about killing one person knowingly, even though you know there are five people out on the tracks. It's also a test of emotion and intuition. You all chose the instinctive emotional response for the last two questions, except for Katrina. Her logic overrode that," he even looked at her quite fondly. "And she learnt that from me."

They were all silent, and Katrina blushed.

"So... so what are we going to do?" Lestrade asked. "How do we know the killer's going to do this again?"

"I expect he's been listening. He left us that note for us to answer, and I _did_," Sherlock replied. "He'll know we know the story of the fat man and how it should go... all we can do for now is wait."

Sherlock then glanced up at the bridge once more, and saw a figure in a long, black overcoat and a matching hat stalk away from the scene after a few moments of more watching.

"We've got a philosophy fanatic on our hands."

* * *

><p><strong>I'm really curious as to whether anybody else knows this philosophy theory? I'd be interested if you did, and you <em>don't<em> actually study philosophy itself! Comment?**

**-OL**


	15. On Philosophical Tracks: Deductions

**I'm glad people are liking the philosophy I'm using in this. It's very fun. I also hope that everyone's been paying attention to what Sherlock's been telling Katrina (see the end of chapter 13), because that _all_ becomes relevant very, very soon.**

* * *

><p>The next day, John and Katrina woke to find Sherlock pacing about in the living room, a massive map of all the London stations on the floor. At points, he might stop and drop to the floor so that he could write down something.<p>

"Why did I ever let Isabella stay at my flat?" Katrina mumbled as she went to go and make cups of tea for everyone. She still hadn't been allowed to take the sofa. "I wouldn't have to wake up to this..."

"You're a somewhat nice person?" John suggested.

"Somewhat nice? Not just nice? Lovely? Any other adjective?"

"Well, you did threaten to push your sister down the stairs..." John wandered into the living room and managed to collapse in his arm chair.

"I'm not actually going to follow through with that!" she shouted through to him.

"Shut up!" Sherlock told the two of them.

"What _are_ you doing?" John asked him.

"Determining all the possible cross points of tube lines and where trains might have to be diverted if they must be..." Sherlock then circled a possible crossing point, then sitting on map itself. "There's something that doesn't make sense... why the Northern and Victoria lines that cross paths near Warren Street? The trains can just hop from one line to another... unless... _oh_. Unless of course that was a tryout, to see if it would actually _work_."

"If what would work?" Katrina asked as she came in, handing a cup of tea to John, then Sherlock and then leaning on the arm of John's chair as she sipped on her own.

"Fear. If he or she could strike fear into their hearts at the prospect of death. Illicit an emotional response. To see if using a married couple would mean that one half wouldn't pull the lever and they were proved _right_. The wife didn't pull the lever, and five people died. Even though pulling the lever would have no effect whatsoever. It was a test run, and a married couple won't be used again in the next one," Sherlock took a long gulp of tea, making a face. "Too much sugar."

"I don't really care about that... where do you think the real one will take place then?"

"The Northern line again," Sherlock shifted to where he had circled a junction. "See here? This is just north of Warren Street. The track splits just after Camden Town and can either go towards Kentish Town or Chalk Farm. So there will be a _real_ lever that could let the train be diverted either way... the train could be on track to Kentish Town and five people could be there and vice versa."

"How can you be so sure that that's the next location?" John wondered.

"Nearest thing to the test run, obviously," Sherlock rolled his eyes, and then pulling his phone out of his pocket as he received a text. "Brilliant," his eyes lit up as he read it.

"What?" Katrina raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock jumped up and made to leave, but not before putting on his usual coat and scarf. "It seems like our philosophy enthusiast has made his mark before."

With those final words, he left.

* * *

><p>Sherlock took a cab to the Yard, quite eager in finding out whose finger prints they found, and was curious as to how they had managed something so quickly. The police usually almost always out of their depth, and Sherlock was surprised at the fact they done done something at a faster pace than normal. Then again, five people were killed the previous day. If only that sort of stimulus would work with just <em>one<em> person having been murdered, then crime rates in London would be a little bit lower...

As soon as the cab pulled up, he paid the driver and got out quickly, making his way into the building and up towards the floor where Lestrade's office would be. He ignored the dirty looks he received from Donovan and Anderson, promptly strolling into the Detective Inspector's office.

"What have you got for me?" he asked straight away. Sherlock needed to get to the point and get the facts. He didn't fancy wasting too much time here, surrounded by the ordinary and dull.

"Well, we did a bit of research on previous cases" Lestrade came round with a file, handing it to Sherlock. "Our killer's done this sort of thing before, but nobody could catch them or figure out what they was even _doing_."

"That's because everyone else are idiots..." he remarked as he flipped through the file and read through it, taking in all the necessary information that he needed. Sherlock didn't show the disgust on his face as she read through the file. Not even when he read that anybody who tried to even catch the group would also be put in the line of fire. And how said policemen and detectives were shot down.

"It seems like there's a leader with a group. That's how they were able to get seven people down to the tracks and tie up six of them."

"Speaking of which, did you know that that quintuple murder was only a test run?" Sherlock asked him, rhetorically of course. "Because there is no possible way for a train to even jump from the Northern Line to the Victoria Line. Any levers presented to the wife were fake. They just wanted to see if she'd pull it to save five people, but she _didn't_ and now they know _not_ to use a married couple. I know exactly where they're going to go next."

"What? Where?"

_So out of their depth. All the time._

"Camden Town. The Northern Line splits there. If _I_ were you, Detective Inspector, I would have your best men on the case, keeping a good look out for any suspicious activity."

"How many hostages do you think we'll be looking for?"

"Seven."

"Not eight? Because in the theory you said there'd be the fat man on the bridge..."

"There will be, but not _yet_. The trial run was of the first part of the theory, and now they're going to put that into motion properly."

"So what are you going to do for the time being? Just wait until I call?" Lestrade wasn't amused, and he held out his hand for Sherlock to give him back the file, which he did so.

"That is exactly what I'm going to do."

"Sherlock..."

"What? There's nothing I _can_ do, apart from actually catch the killer. Which I won't be able to do until of course he notices me," Sherlock gave a curt nod before exiting the office, leaving Lestrade a little bit confused.

* * *

><p>"Get what you needed?" Katrina asked when he returned. She and John were both dressed, and trying to avoid stepping on the map of London when attempting to get to the other side of the living room.<p>

"Oh yes... I did..." he said vaguely. "Well... they've done this sort of thing before."

"Really? With the trains?"

"Well... they've done _'Should You Kill the Backpacker?' _which in some parts, is similar to _'Should You Kill The Fat Man?'_ but only because it tests your morals. Also because of the trains," Sherlock removed his coat and scarf, hanging them up on the door before setting himself down on the sofa next to Katrina. "They've had a fondness of experimenting with the _'Would You Eat Your Cat?'_ philosophy too... and _'Murder Puzzle._'"

"Are you all right? You seem a bit put out."

"We're going to have to tread carefully on this one."

"You said words to that effect last time and I still got shot," she pointed out.

"Right."

"Just making an interjection here..." John said from the desk. "I'm looking up the cat philosophy, and... did he _really_ make people eat their cats?"

"Going by the file Lestrade showed me, _yes he did_."

"How does someone even do that?"

"Threats. Manipulation. Not telling them they're actually _eating_ the own cat," Sherlock shrugged and then from his position on the sofa, jumped to the floor again so that he could look over the maps once more.

"So... what do we do for the time being?" Katrina asked, crossing one leg over the other.

"Wait."

"Wait until someone else dies, you mean?" John raised an eyebrow at him.

"Precisely."

"Oh I knew it would be so much fun to live with you two..." Katrina mumbled sarcastically. "Waiting for people to die just so you can solve a case. Such _fun_."

"Well, _you_ must be having some sort of fun – I mean, you _did_ sleep with Sherlock," the blogger pointed out.

"Nope," the two adults in question replied at the same time.

"...Then what was – what?!"

"How delicately do I put this to him?" Katrina asked Sherlock, who now stood up again, straightening out his suit as he did so. He gave her a look of indifference.

"Delicately or not delicately. Although it would be fun to watch him squirm..." he turned to face John, who was staring between the two of them with an open mouth.

Silence fell throughout the room.

"Hands," Katrina said suddenly.

"Hands," Sherlock nodded.

"...Oh..." John finally closed his mouth.

"That was delicate enough, wasn't it?" Katrina directed the question at the detective again.

"I would have liked to see him squirm a bit," Sherlock replied, smirking.

"Maybe we should do as my sister says and have kids. That'd _really_ make John squirm."

"We could... we could... but no."

"Definitely not. Wouldn't want them turning out to be like you – antisocial and really irritating."

"Wouldn't want them to turn out like you – angry and _also_ really irritating."

"...But they'd be pretty children. We could just raise them to be like John. Pretty, not dull and a doctor."

"Sounds like a plan for the distant future."

"John is _still_ in the room, by the way..." the blogger then said. He was staring in shock at the two of them again. "And did you guys _really_ just make an agreement to have children and make them turn out like me?"

"Like an experiment," Sherlock grinned, which then dropped off his face. "Except we're not going through with it."

"How about when hell freezes over?" Katrina stood up and held out her hand to Sherlock.

"When hell freezes over," Sherlock agreed, shaking her hand to seal the deal.

"Did I just witness this?" John asked, stunned.

"Yes. When hell freezes over, remind us to experiment with children making," Sherlock dropped Katrina's hand and went into the kitchen. "Tea, anybody?"

"You never make tea!"

"I think he's embarrassed..." Katrina said to John in a low voice as she walked over to him.

"But he doesn't get embarrassed – not even when talking about sex," John replied in a hushed voice. "I mean, he took on a dominatrix..."

"That may be, but you didn't see him that night."

"I don't think I particularly want to imagine it, thanks..."

"He was asking questions."

"...Oh. _Oh,_" a look of realisation crossed John's face.

"Yeah. You see my point about him being embarrassed?" she glanced over her shoulder to see Sherlock pottering about in the kitchen, making tea for the three of them. "He may not want to be delicate when it's someone else in question, but when it's _him_, he'd rather have the delicacy because he had to _ask me what to do._"

"Oh _god_. Can we please stop talking about this?"

"You were curious and I was being delicate."

"Even so–" before John finish what he was saying, Sherlock's text alert went off.

"Could you get that?" Sherlock asked from the kitchen. "Might be Lestrade."

John sighed and made to go and get the mobile phone, but Katrina shook her head and went to go and do it herself.

"Where is it?" she asked him.

"Coat pocket."

"Definitely your coat and _not_ your jacket this time, you lazy arse?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, exasperated as he came in, precariously carrying three mugs of tea, while Katrina went to his coat and go out the phone in question.

"Oh. Oh crap," she said as she read the text.

"What is it?" John walked over to her and read it too. "Oh."

"Read it out," Sherlock said as he sipped on his coffee.

"_Five people. Chalk Farm. Hurry_," Katrina then paused for a moment. "The next part is _just_ a bit worrying."

"Katrina... what else?"

"_There's a note addressed to you._"

"Ahh. No point being careful now, is there?"

* * *

><p><strong>Slightly ominous, but not as ominous as it could be... comment?<strong>

**-OL**


	16. On Philosophical Tracks: Calling Shots

There was a moment of nothing as they waited for Sherlock to do _something_. Then he finally slammed down his mug on the desk and hopped up, going to snatch his phone from Katrina's hands and then putting on his coat, getting ready to go out for the second time that day. John followed suit, whereas Katrina still stood in the middle of the living room.

"You're not coming?" John asked her.

"No," she said after a moment's hesitation. "No, I'm not."

"Why not?" Sherlock input. "I need my third pair of eyes."

"No. There's a difference between _needing_ a third pair of eyes and _wanting_ a third pair of eyes. I'm not coming."

"Why not? It's fun."

Katrina inhaled sharply.

"Fun? Really? You think five dead bodies and a note is fun? No. It's not fun. It's not fun at all. One, I could probably handle, but I am _not_ looking at another five dead bodies purely for your own enjoyment and just because you want me there to prove a point!" her voice had increasingly grown louder as she had gone on. Now there was a look in her eyes that signalled she was beginning to get angry. "I am _not_ you third pair of eyes. Not this time, Sherlock."

"You have useful insights-"

"What _I_ have is computer skills. I am not a detective. I am by no means a doctor. I am a technician. I'm not your third pair of eyes," she repeated, heavily exasperated and trying to quell her anger.

"Then what is the point of you?"

She flinched at those words.

"It can work both ways, Sherlock – what's the point of _you_ if you can't even understand human emotion?" she glared at him, just as he was able to stare cold daggers into her own heart.

"Rationality," he swiftly turned and left, John throwing her an apologetic look before heading out after the detective.

Katrina then gulped down her tea, not caring that it was still quite scorching hot, and she mimicked Sherlock by slamming the cup down on the desk. Then she began to pace the room for a little while, trying to work off any residual anger she felt towards Sherlock, and not caring that she was walking all over his maps. In fact, they had all seemed to have forgotten about those bloody maps anyway.

God, he was definitely irritating as hell, yet she still had admitted to feeling a sort of attraction to him, and she didn't know why. He was cold than ice most of the time, he really was, until of course the topic of irritating other people was brought up. Then you could get on with him a lot more easily. But oh no, you don't do as he says and he gets annoyed. Which then would make you annoyed.

_What was the point of him?_

She paced and walked and thought.

It was a complicated little situation, Katrina was definitely intelligent to know that. But if there was a point to Sherlock Holmes, the point would be that he solved crime for a living as an alternative to creating crimes himself, she reckoned. He had a brilliant mind, nobody could deny that, yet he had chosen to be a detective. She supposed it was all to do with the work – as he had told her so previously. The point of Sherlock Holmes was to do the work that nobody else wanted to do.

Eventually she sighed and stopped, running a hand through her constantly messy hair, feeling like somebody was watching her. Katrina slowly turned to face the doorway, where Mycroft was standing.

"I thought you were going to wear a hole in the floor," he commented as he strolled in. "Not going with my little brother to solve the case?"

She snorted.

"Oh yeah, likes _that's_ gonna happen," she rolled her eyes, folding her arms as she leaned against the desk. "I'm not a detective. I don't have the same level of intellect as your brother, and I'm not even going to try using _my_ level of intellect – he'd just find something to patronise me about, as he does with everybody."

"You're finally growing frustrated with him?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he went to settle himself in John's red armchair.

"I think I was always frustrated with him. I just didn't see it until now," she murmured.

"You see yourself in him, don't you?"

"W-What?"

"You see a part of yourself in Sherlock. It makes you able to withstand him."

"I don't – I don't," she swallowed, trying not to stammer over her words. Katrina knew that Mycroft was telling the truth there. "I don't know what you're on about," she then lied to him. He gave her his best unimpressed face, because he knew she was lying.

"An angry, broken woman who met a clever, broken detective. Both of them outsiders to the rest of the world and they take pride in having the jobs that nobody else wants. One hides away in their cupboard-like office surrounded by lines of computer code, while the other hides away in their flat surrounded by pictures of crime scenes and people's life stories," Mycroft explained, his expression turning solemn.

"Who said I was broken?!" she raised her voice at him. "Who the _hell_ said I was broken?"

"Your childhood."

"Oh my god... oh my _god_... you've been looking me up," Katrina seemed to finally let out that breath she had inhaled before Sherlock and John left to go investigate the crime scene. She walked over to Mycroft and stood before him. "Haven't you?"

"A necessary precaution," he gave a quick, fleeting smile before standing up, causing Katrina to move back a few steps. "You loved your parents but you felt they didn't love you. And you were angry. You had a bad reputation in school for being a bit of a troublemaker but that was because you no longer cared what your parents thought of you. You cared for them until they were brutally murdered-"

"Stop it-" she was looking down at her feet trying to hold back tears.

"And you stop the pain by staying with a sociopathic detective who doesn't care about anything or anyone because, as I have _always_ said, Miss Jenkins, that all lives end and all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage," he paused for a moment in his little tirade of truths. "You're angry because you find yourself caring too much when you don't need to. It's why you stay away from people, unless of course you know they can handle you when you're at your worst. That's why you take menial jobs as a technician when _in fact_ your skills can be put to use elsewhere, and much better."

"You and your brother are so alike, did you know that?"

"Alike in ways that you and your sister are not," Mycroft sighed. "You're _still_ angry, and you're not sure if you'll ever stop being angry."

"Mycroft, I told you to-"

"Stop? Yes. I heard you, but you need to hear it from someone else. Irate, little Katrina, getting into trouble at school and cutting off her own hair, has always still ended up caring _far too much_ for her own good."

"Why are you doing this?" a tear slipped down her cheek. "Why?"

"Because you care about my brother, apparently," he raised an eyebrow at her. "But you care about him in a different way to John."

"And what? You want me to _stop_ caring for him?"

"Yes. It won't end well for you."

"What about John? Why aren't you preaching this to him?"

"Because he's known Sherlock for longer and has lived here for longer," Mycroft explained it as if it were the most simple thing in the world. "And their relationship is more platonic than the one you hold with Sherlock. It won't end well for you."

"How would you know that?"

"My brother takes a very long time to care," there was a slightly nostalgic mist in his eyes. "Now. There was another reason why I came here, other than to berate you."

"Oh yeah?" her arms dropped to her sides as she stared at the older man in disbelief. "And what would that be?"

"Would you like out of your menial job to come and do something much more exciting?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"I'm surprised."

"Really? Maybe then next time open with the job offer and then bring up ghosts. Not the other way round," Katrina snapped at Mycroft.

"The offer is still open."

"Nope. But thank you," she gave him a sarcastic smile. He sighed again, and was about to walk out when he noticed something behind her. Mycroft frowned. "What?"

"You may need to come away from the window, Miss Jenkins," he then cautioned her.

"What? Why?" she was about to turn around to look, but he placed an iron-like grip on her shoulder as he tried to move her away. "Mycroft, what-"

Before he could answer, however, there was a shattering of glass and he drew back like she was on fire. Katrina then saw the dart in his hand, and the government official staggered backwards, shaking his hand to rid himself of the dart. Yet just as she was about to try and do something, she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder where Mycroft's hand had been, and a few seconds later she began to feel drowsy just as he fell ungracefully to the floor.

"Oh god... Mycroft... what about Mrs Hudson...?"

Katrina then collapsed on the ground next to him, struggling to keep her eyes open.

"What's- what's going on?" he then asked her before succumbing to unconsciousness, Katrina following a few moments later.

* * *

><p><em>Would you push the fat man off the bridge, Mr Holmes?<em>

Sherlock scanned the note over and over on the way back home from the crime scene. He was completely silent. Usually when given a note he'd be babbling about it non-stop, coming up with an idea of who it could possibly be. Except because it was a _question_ on the paper, he was mulling over it. He was mulling over the morals he himself possessed.

"Would you?" the detective suddenly asked, making John jump.

"Would I _what_?"

"Push the man off the bridge?"

"My answer is the same as it was the yesterday:_ no," _John shook his head. "This is mad. Another five people are dead because someone was too scared to pull that lever. How long do you think it'll be before it's one of us? What if one of _us_ had to pull that lever? Except the lever would kill somebody by dumping them onto the train track?"

Sherlock was silent again for a moment.

"_Oh_."

"What?"

"What if it _were_ one of us, John?"

"You don't mean-"

"We're the next targets. Why do you think he addressed me directly?" there was a glimmer of glee dancing in his eyes, which made John a little bit annoyed.

"Really? You're getting excited about the fact one of us could be tied to a train track _or_ have to pull a lever and _kill somebody?!_" he said through gritted teeth.

"It's _interesting_. It's a test of morals!"

The cab pulled up outside of 221B, and John paid the driver, getting out without saying another word to Sherlock, just shaking his head. He stopped short, however, when he saw that the door had been forced open. When Sherlock stepped out onto the street, a dark look crossed his face.

"Check 221A. Make sure Mrs Hudson is still there," he told John, before hurrying inside and up the stairs to the flat of 221B.

The first thing he noticed was the broken window and the shatter pattern of the glass on the floor. He then noticed the umbrella on the floor by John's seat. Mycroft had been here, talking to Katrina. He caught sight of seven sets of footprints on the maps adorning the floor. One pair was Mycroft's, there was a slight umbrella point next to them, then Katrina's, going back and forth over the map. Then three pairs he knew to be the intruders. Then two pairs which he knew to be his and John's.

Sherlock stalked towards the red armchair, his eyes scouring the floor with every passing second, when he noticed the little tranquilliser dart close to his brother's umbrella. It had come from Mycroft, clearly, who had been able to shake it out of himself, meaning it had been stuck in his hand...

John running into the room brought Sherlock out of his thoughts.

"Mrs Hudon's gone. Forced entry like the front door."

"That's only three. Who else could they go for?" Sherlock finally stood up, straightening out his coat. He then had a moment of realisation. "Get to the Yard. I'll go to Bart's. Don't argue with me, just _go_."

* * *

><p><strong>I wonder if people can see where this is going. I really do... comment?<strong>

**-OL**


	17. On Philosophical Tracks: Where To Go

**A couple of you think you know what's going to happen, but I don't think you'll be expecting the ending I have, really.**

* * *

><p>When John arrived at the Yard, he ran as fast as he could to Lestrade's office, since he knew they'd be back by now. Upon coming to the floor and seeing no Lestrade in sight, he went over to Donovan.<p>

"Where's Lestrade?"

"Um, he went to Bart's," the sergeant gave him an odd look. "Why? What's got you all worried?"

"He could be in trouble."

"Oh yeah?"

"Sherlock figured out who the next victims are."

Donovan rolled her eyes. She didn't have the best liking for Sherlock, and could never quite believe that he had all the skills he had.

"Right," she began to move away from John to go and file some reports.

"Sergeant Donovan, please. That note was addressed directly to Sherlock and when we got back home, Katrina, Mrs Hudson and his brother who was paying Katrina a visit, were gone. Door broken down and everything," John paused for a moment as he saw that Donovan was slowly starting to believe him. "He thinks that Lestrade has been taken, as has Molly Hooper. Then someone's going to get me, then him," he paused again, a look of confusion crossing his own features. "But that's only seven... six people on the tracks and one person to pull the lever."

"Are you saying that someone else is going to be on the bridge?" she asked him. "But what bridge?"

"Oh god... oh god..." John tried to rack his brains. "Sherlock had maps on the floor at Baker Street. He had various intersections on certain tube lines circled. Only two of them happened to be in central London and we've already had that one..."

"Can you remember the other one? We can get people on standby..."

"I think it was-" John's phone buzzed in his pocket and he got it out. "Sorry, one second..." he saw a text from Sherlock.

_Molly's gone._

_-SH_

Sighing, John typed a reply.

_So's Lestrade._

_-JW_

"What is it?"

"Molly Hooper's missing. I think it was the District Line, by the way," and with that last statement, John went on his way to go and find Sherlock.

* * *

><p>When Sherlock had found out that both Lestrade and Molly were definitely gone, he began to make his way back to Baker Street, just to confirm with the maps that they would be where he thought that would be. But if there was one thing that didn't make sense, it was who the eighth person was going to be. There was nobody else in London that could be considered close to him, unless one counted the Homeless Network. Which this person probably wouldn't. They wouldn't even know about the Homeless Network.<p>

As he arrived back home again, he saw the door was ajar once more, and he frowned, paying the cab driver and then slowly began to make his way up the steps. When nearing the living room, he stopped for a moment and inhaled deeply. Cigarette smoke. He then proceeded in, and saw a woman sitting in his armchair, taking a long drag on the death stick. She looked tall, with her blonde hair slicked back and placed into a tight bun. Brown eyes. Wearing a suit. Heels. She knew what she was doing.

"Ahh. Are you the psychopath running people over with trains?" he raised an eyebrow and she smirked, standing up and coming over to him.

"Are you the psychopath trying to stop me?" she was American.

"Hmm," his lips nearly twitched up into a smile. "High-functioning sociopath. Do your research."

"I did. That never came up," she dropped the cigarette to the ground and put it out with her foot. "Pleasure to meet you Mr Holmes."

"Likewise, Miss...?"

"Alexandra Myers," she told him with a slight smile. "You can call me Miss Myers."

"Are you here to hand yourself over?"

"Oh no, definitely not," she was amused by what he was saying. "No, I'm going to tell you a few things and then I'll be taking you to the District Line."

"Well then. Have a seat."

"Nope," she popped the 'p' rather enthusiastically. "Let's get straight into it? You read the file on the past cases that I was behind and you didn't think to stop. I would have relented after three days. This is just day two and I'm already bored, so I'm putting you in with the late train. I want to see if you have morals, Mr Holmes."

"Morals don't save them, do they?"

"Nope. But I want to see if you have them. An experiment, if you will."

"That is what philosophy is all about it – experimenting. But not _actually_ taking it verbatim," he made a slight face. "This is also theory of knowledge."

"Reason and emotion. Very good, yes. Ties in with the philosophical side of things quite nicely. And you'll be pulling the lever tonight."

"I gathered that."

"I'm also going to tell you now that there's something different about this one. It's not what you're expecting it to be. And this is the final time I'm doing this, here in London, because otherwise I'll get caught."

"You won't bother me again?"

"Nope," she had a fondness of that word. "Like I said before, this is an experiment. An experiment of morals. I want to see if you have any, especially after your little lash out at Miss Jenkins earlier."

Sherlock's voice caught in his throat. They had been watched the entire time.

"She's on what would be considered the side track," he realised, and he slowly edged towards the desk where he had spotted something rather useful on it. While she followed him there, he was able to quickly pocket it without her noticing.

"Very good. You got that. But who's the fat man, Mr Holmes? Which lever will you pull?" Alexandra gave a sly smile, and before he could even say anything in response to her, she had stabbed him in the arm with a needle. The world began to swim before his eyes and soon enough, he was on the ground giving into darkness.

* * *

><p>Even when Katrina had opened her eyes, she couldn't be sure if she really had. It was pitch black, and she couldn't move. Her legs were bound together as her arms were bound to her body with rope. She was frightened. She wanted to speak, but she was unsure if anyone was there to listen. Eventually, she got the courage to say something.<p>

"Mycroft...?" was what she said. He had been the last person she had seen, after all. The word echoed around her, and there was no response. She was all on her own. Then it dawned her: she was on her own because she was on the _side_ track. She could very well die tonight if someone pulled the lever. But if they _didn't_ pull the lever, then that meant Mycroft, Mrs Hudson and others would die. Who would the others be, though? John? Probably. But who else?

"Katrina?" she heard a familiar voice and tears filled her eyes.

"Oh my god, Sherlock!"

"Katrina, I have to pull the lever... there's actually two. It doesn't say what one does what," he explained to her, and his voice was coming closer, as was a small light. She shut her eyes because it hurt them, seeing something so bright in the pitch black.

"Where are you?" she asked quietly, and then she felt him next her, pushing something into her hands.

"Try and cut yourself loose," he said to her, and she knew he had begun to walk away again.

"Just in case you get it wrong?"

A moment of silence.

"Yes."

She managed to get the knife open and then flip it in her hand so that the pointy end was against the rope. She began to cut back and forth.

"There are two levers..." Sherlock called out to her again as he left the tracks and came back to the little booth in one of the niches in the tunnel wall. He shone the light of his phone on the piece of paper on the wall.

_Lucky there's a delay.  
><em>_Ten minutes.  
><em>_Two levers.  
><em>_One makes the fat man fall. The other kills your thief.  
><em>_Choose wisely._

"Well, just pull one," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I would if I knew which one to pull!" Sherlock's eyes darted back and forth between the two handles in front of him, and he would occasionally look at the timer next to them. He had seven minutes left. "This is just it going to the extreme! There's only supposed to be one!"

"It's philosophy, Sherlock, it's never going to be what you think it's going to be."

"But which one do I pull?"

"Go with your heart – that is, if you have one!"

"I don't..."

"Well you proved that earlier today," her voice was getting shaky as more tears fell. "It doesn't matter which one you pull, if I die it doesn't matter. What _is_ the point of me if I can't come to a crime scene with you?"

"Stop it!" Sherlock shook his head. "Don't bring this up. Not now. Don't make me talk about emotion when I don't want to."

"It's the whole point of _this_, Sherlock!" she screamed at him, and the name 'Sherlock' kept bouncing back around them, causing the both of them to be Sherlock.

"I told you that _reason_ is everything and that _emotion_ hinders me."

"Well then. Mix the two together."

"No – my mind doesn't work like that."

"Then what is the point of you?! _Just_ like I said earlier!" she had successfully managed to cut through two of her bonds.

"Four minutes, Katrina. Five minutes until John, Molly, Mycroft, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson die. Do you think caring about them will save them?"

"Yes!"

"Wrong."

"Oh fucking hell. No. Just remember how you'd feel if they all die. That's emotion. Not reason. You'd feel something if they died, you really would."

"...Perhaps," he stared at the two levers again, trying to decided which one it would be.

"Sherlock?" her voice was more timid now.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. There is a point to you. You solve crimes and help save people."

"But I didn't solve this one. Maybe you're right," he murmured in response, thinking about his brief meeting with the woman behind all of this. "Don't get sentimental when you think you're going to die."

"O- Okay," she didn't have it in her to argue anymore, as she carried on trying to cut through the ropes. Silence fell between them for quite a while.

"Two minutes," Sherlock said.

_You're waiting for a train..._

"Just pull a lever, Sherlock!" Katrina screamed at him with renewed force, struggling to cut through the ropes with the little pen knife she had been given by the detective.

"I- I don't know which one..." he called back to her, his eyes darting back and forth between the two levers that were in front of him. "I don't... I..."

"But you're Sherlock bloody Holmes of course you know which one it is! Reason1" Tears were streaming from the brunette's eyes, fearing the worst would happen and he'd pull the lever that would divert the train down to her. "Pull. A. _Lever!_"

_A train that will take you far away..._

The detective looked at the timer. Less then a minute and a half. He had to choose... The left or the right. One would plummet a man to his death and saving six lives. The other would cause a train to run over Katrina and save six lives.

The odds were stacked against him.

The outcome was equal.

"Keep cutting through the ropes!" He told her, when he noticed she had stopped. "Keep going..."

John, Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly and Mrs Hudson were not allowed to die. Katrina was not allowed to die. Strangely enough, the man on the bridge was not allowed to die. This was why it was moral test. This was why it was to do with emotion. Who did he want to save the most?

_You know where you hope this train will take you..._

Emotion. Logic. Emotion. Logic. His emotion was guiding him, currently, but Sherlock realised it didn't matter who he wanted to save because he didn't know which lever did what.

Less than a minute.

He was seeing.

He was not observing.

Observe the levers and save those who mattered. Let the man plummet. He didn't matter.

Emotion again, but mixed with logic. How very Katrina of him.

_But you don't know for sure..._

He placed his hand on the left lever. He had to be ready to pull it any second now.

"Katrina... Whatever happens..."

"Don't say it. Don't you dare say you're sorry because you're not!" She spat at him.

_But it doesn't matter..._

He watched as the timer slowly came closer and closer to the thirty second mark.

"Keep cutting through the ropes," he told her once more. "You're almost there!"

_How can it not matter to you where the train will take you?_

"Sherlock..."

"Yes?"

"Will it make a difference?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll keep at it and you pull the lever."

"Deal."

And when the numbers read thirty, Sherlock Holmes pulled the left lever towards him, holding his breath, waiting for a death to happen.

_Because you'll be together._


	18. On Philosophical Tracks: Not Quite Over

It had been an awful moment of waiting. It was as if time itself had slowed down. The moment Sherlock had pulled the lever, he shut his eyes and hoped that he had picked the right one. He usually never hoped, because he was usually always right, but in this circumstance, it had been a fifty-fifty chance with several lives at stake.

But there was no sound of a train or an anguished scream near to him, down the side track. He very nearly sighed in relief, but he couldn't. Sherlock still didn't know if the switch had actually worked, and that the train _hadn't_ gone on to kill five people who were close to him. Or he could have killed someone that was of importance to someone else. Or he could have killed Katrina – somehow. He hadn't heard her scream, nor had he heard the train come by, but somehow there was still that possibility. Sherlock couldn't rule it out.

As soon as he was certain that nothing had definitely _not_ come by, he turned the light on on his phone and stepped out from the niche in the wall, making his way back towards where he knew Katrina would be lying, still cutting away at the ropes with the pen knife. He groped about in the dark until he found her hands – hands that were trembling – and he took the penknife from her, and began to carry on releasing her from her bonds more swiftly.

When they were all gone, Sherlock folded and pocketed the knife before helping up Katrina, who was clearly unsteady on her feet. She held onto him as they walked the way towards the station where the police would be situated. They didn't have to walk very far before beams of torchlight began entering the dark tunnel, and Sherlock no longer had to use the light from his phone. Paramedics. Police. They were coming to check to make sure nobody had died down this part of the track, but Sherlock was more concerned about John, Molly, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Mycroft. Especially Mrs Hudson, who was not used to these sorts of things happening to her.

The closer and closer they got to the light of where the bridge would be, Katrina began to lose the will to be able to walk and she was struggling to keep herself upright.

"She's in shock," Sherlock told a passing paramedic, handing Katrina over to her. "Maybe just sit with her."

Katrina seemed heavily disorientated – which was understandable – and she merely looked at Sherlock with a confused expression as he gently coaxed her towards the paramedic, who then carefully took hold of the shaken woman. Sherlock proceeded towards the station, where many commuters were murmuring about what was going on, because their train had not come. More police and the forensics unit – with Anderson, of course – made their way into the tunnel to go and find the bridge.

He then caught sight of John, looking rather pale but keeping an eye on Mrs Hudson. Lestrade was comforting Molly and they were talking to Donovan. Mycroft was perched on the edge of the platform, somewhat bored with it all. Sherlock went and hopped up next to him.

"I'm shocked, dear brother," Mycroft drawled. "Apparently you care about me."

"Let's _not_ go into that conversation," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why were you at Baker Street?"

"Dropping by to see how Miss Jenkins was coping," Mycroft caught sight of her being supported by the paramedic. "Clearly she's been doing well so far. If not somewhat shaken by this event."

"What else did you say to her to annoy her?"

"Never you mind, Sherlock," Mycroft smiled sadly. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, I sincerely hope that in the future I'm not a victim in one of your cases. Wouldn't want it to make the headlines."

"God no," Sherlock snorted. "That would be awful. I like to keep my connection to you as hidden as possible."

"I would say the same of you, but unfortunately..."

"Yes, yes, _I know_ – your job," he rolled his eyes again.

"Did you know which lever it was?" Mycroft suddenly asked. Sherlock stared at him for a moment or two before answering – he knew his brother was like him, and was able to deduce facts like that in the same way.

"No," Sherlock turned away from his brother to watch Katrina as she slowly regained herself. "Although I thought that it wouldn't matter too much if I had pulled the wrong lever. I was wrong to think that."

"Oh?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"There's something about Katrina – I don't know what it is, but I'm determined to find out what it is that draws me to her."

"Sherlock Holmes: baffled by one woman."

"She's more enigmatic than me – and _that_ is saying something," with those final words, Sherlock hopped off the platform and made his way over to John and Mrs Hudson, who had been joined by Katrina. Mycroft stared after his younger brother, sadly, because he knew exactly what it was that drew Sherlock to Katrina – it was just a shame he hadn't figured it out yet.

* * *

><p>Back home at Baker Street, Sherlock, John, Katrina and Mrs Hudson were gathered in the living room of 221B, having cups of tea. Sherlock had cleared the maps off of the floor and put them away – somewhere – and all were sharing the comfortable silence that came with the room. John was sitting with Mrs Hudson on the sofa, Sherlock was in his usual chair and Katrina was cross-legged on the floor by Sherlock's legs.<p>

Unfortunately, someone had to break the silence.

But everybody was thankful it was John who did so.

"You all right, Katrina?" he asked the woman on the floor, who jumped a bit at his voice. She nodded very quickly.

"I'm fine. What's – what's the time?" she asked in return, somewhat randomly.

"Gone midnight," Sherlock piped up. "Katrina, if you are going to stammer over your sentences I suggest you say nothing at all."

"R-Right."

"Katrina..."

"Sherlock, just leave her alone. And _don't_ think about saying a word to Mrs Hudson," John put his arm around the landlady, who appreciated the gesture.

"Oh John, it's fine. I'm all right," she told him, even though her hands were still shaking while holding her mug. "Shaken up like the rest of you, but I'll be fine."

"You're always fine, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock gave her one of his rare, true smiles.

At that moment, Katrina stood up and set her mug down on the desk, before going to silently make her way to the bedroom, so that she could get some sleep. Sherlock stared after her, a slight frown on his face, and John appeared to have noticed his reaction.

"Whatever's bugging you, just talk to her," the other man said.

Wordlessly, Sherlock got up and carefully made his way towards his room, where he knocked on the door. A quiet voice told him to 'come in,' so he did.

Katrina was sitting on the edge of the bed, and she looked up as Sherlock came in, raising her eyebrow.

"What? Come to – to berate me some more?"

"No."

"Good."

Silence. Sherlock came to sit next to her.

"Did you know?" she then went on.

"Know what?"

"The lever?"

"No."

"Would you – would you have cared? If it was the wrong one?"

"Maybe."

Silence again. It was a simple enough conversation that didn't require much talking in the first place. It just needed rational answers – despite the fact everybody had had enough of rationality for one night.

Katrina then rested her head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Fair enough," she said.

"Fair enough," he repeated, his head leaning onto hers.

* * *

><p>Alexandra Myers – smoking yet another cigarette – made her way into the sophisticated office, where her employer was sitting at his desk with his back to her. She stopped a few metres from him, exhaling a length of fumes into the room.<p>

"Were the results what you wanted, sir?" she asked him.

"Yes. Yes they were..." he replied quietly.

"Is there anything else you want me to do?"

"No. I may need your assistance again," the man mused. He fell silent for a moment or two. "I think for the time being, keep an eye on Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Katrina Jenkins. From a very safe distance, of course. You've already told him you would be leaving..."

Alexandra's face went completely taught.

"You know about that?"

"I know _everything_."

Even she could hear the smugness in his voice.

"That will be all, Miss Myers. Your payment will be in your bank account within the next hour, and I look forward to working with you in the future," he then said, his tone returning more to normal, and Alexandra relaxed.

"Thank you, sir."

And off she went, taking another drag of her cigarette.

* * *

><p><strong>Short, I know, but... five points if you can guess who Alexandra's employer is. I'm warning you now, this won't come up again for some time. It will be when you least expect it... hehe.<strong>

**Comment?**

**-OL**


	19. On Philosophical Tracks: At Last

**Short but sweet :)**

* * *

><p>It was gone one in the morning, and Sherlock knew he should at least get some sleep now. He had been out near enough all day, talking to the police about what had happened at the tracks because he had evaded that on the day they were all found. Sherlock had had to tell them every single detail, including the one about the fact their killer was gone and he had met her.<p>

Naturally enough, Lestrade had been annoyed about the fact that Sherlock hadn't done anything to turn her in when he had the opportunity, but then they may not have gotten to the others in time. It was definitely a good thing that Sherlock had said nothing, because it had played in their favour.

So there he was, sitting at the desk with his laptop, looking over photos of the crime scene – because someone had been murdered in all of this. The lever he had pulled had caused someone to be dropped from the bridge, and that had stopped the train.

He sighed and shut the laptop lid, leaning back in the chair and stretching his long limbs, stifling a yawn. Sherlock rarely ever got tired, but tonight he apparently was. He was going to go and spend the night on the sofa – again – when he heard noises coming from his room. It made the detective stop in his tracks. The noises were muffled, yet they seemed... distressed.

Knowing Katrina was in there, he went to go and investigate. Quietly as he could, he opened the bedroom door and found her in there, still asleep, but she clearly was not having a good dream. She was tossing and turning far more than was normal, so Sherlock flipped the switch on the lights; even that didn't wake her up.

He crept up to her bedside, and when the moment was appropriate, Sherlock grabbed Katrina's wrists and she woke up immediately, beginning to try and fight him off. Eventually, when she realised it was Sherlock, she calmed down considerably, although that didn't stop her heavy breathing and nor did it stop her from continuing to sweat. Sherlock perched himself at the end of the bed, releasing his grip on her and she sat up straight, staring at him.

"Sleep well?" he then asked her in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"Who died?" she murmured in response, electing to ignore his sarcasm. "Sherlock, who died yesterday?"

"Dimmock. Which is odd, because he's not of a sustainable weight. I guess the train driver braked hard enough after hitting him, therefore preventing the train from going to to run over the rest of them..."

"Who's Dimmock?"

"One of the other Detective Inspectors that works at the Yard. I've only met him once before but he's close to Lestrade," Sherlock muttered in response, and Katrina nodded. "What did you dream about?"

She shot him a slightly dark look.

"Dream? Are you kidding me? It was a bloody _nightmare_, that's what it was," she sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.

"Well – what was it about?"

"You," Katrina barely said above a whisper. "You pulling the wrong lever. Me having to watch some train lights approach. Me not being able to get free in – in time," her gaze dropped to her lap, with her cheeks turning pink. Sherlock tilted his head to the side as he studied her intensely.

"Why are you embarrassed by this?" he asked her in a low voice.

"What –"

"Body language, before you say anything," he rolled his eyes. "That... that nightmare is just a natural reaction to what happened. You're still in shock. It was bound to happen."

"Because I have a weaker mind than yours?" she asked him, quite snidely.

"No, because you're human."

"And you're not?"

"I've been told I'm a machine."

"Well – I wouldn't disagree there..." Katrina scoffed lightly. Sherlock was silent for a few moments, before he went off on a completely different tangent.

"You're waiting for a train," he began. "A train that will take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you, but you don't know for sure. But it doesn't matter. How can it not matter to you where that train will take you? Because you'll be together."

Katrina looked up at the detective once more, thinking over his words with a thoughtful look on her face, and then it was replaced with a slight frown.

"Sherlock... that's from _Inception_."

"...Yes. And?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

"What was the relevance of it? Because I could have been _hit_ by a train," she folded her arms and gave him an accusing look.

"Well – I – I'm thinking more of the ending," Sherlock gave her an odd look. "Say the ending of it. Say the ending of the riddle about the train and why it doesn't matter where it goes – on the train or lying on the track in front of it."

"Because you'll be together."

"Because _we'll_ be together," Sherlock corrected her gently. After a few moments of slightly shocked silence from Katrina, he scooted a little closer to her so that he could wrap his arms around her in a rare, yet tight hug. She was surprised even more by that gesture, yet by the time Katrina even though to hug him back, he had pulled away. "I wouldn't have let you been hit by that train if I had pulled the wrong lever."

"I don't believe you."

"Only lies are elaborate. Was I elaborate in my statement? No. No, I was not. I would have saved you from that train."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Can you promise me that you would have?"

"I can indeed," Sherlock nodded.

"Can you take away the nightmares?"

"I – no. I'm a detective. I'm not magical."

"I think you'll find you can take them away. Just – do you mind just lying here with me? Just so I can get some sleep, at least?" Katrina looked at him with pleading eyes, and it took him about two minutes to do it, but Sherlock agreed.

While the woman got comfortable under the covers again, Sherlock went to the other side of the bed and simply lay on top of the duvet. They were both facing each other, and it seemed like it was Katrina's turn to do something that was somewhat impulsive. She pressed a kiss to Sherlock's nose, and he gave her an odd look for it.

"Thank you," she then said.

"You're welcome. Sleep tight, Katrina."

* * *

><p>"<em>On Philosophical Tracks.<em> Seriously?" Katrina looked at John, unamused. "You're making a pun out of the fact that we were nearly hit by a train?"

"It's what keeps my readers interested..." he replied as he typed away on his blog. He paused for a moment when he took a sip of his tea and realised that there had been a lot of hits as of late. "Ha! I reset that counter four days ago."

"And you got over nine thousand hits?" Katrina went and sat in the seat on the opposite side of the desk to John, opening up her own laptop. "That's somewhat impressive.

"Although the comments are... well, not what I was expecting them to be about."

"What are they about?"

"You and Sherlock..."

"What the _hell_ did you write?"

"May have mentioned you were living with us."

"Brilliant," she said sarcastically. "So now your fans think I'm his girlfriend?"

"Yep. Although you practically _are_ his girlfriend."

"No I'm not," Katrina scowled at him.

"Need I mention the fact you two practically had sex? And where was Sherlock sleeping last night? With you. You said he hugged you. He doesn't do that."

"For a start, if we had had sex he would have actually put his penis in me, which he didn't. Secondly, I wasn't sleeping well and was apparently making enough noise to alert him to that. Thirdly... that hug was unexpected and really sweet."

"You are so his girlfriend. Penis or no penis, you are still his girlfriend."

"We've not been out on a date," Katrina pointed out as she began furiously typing away at something, much like John was.

"Well – bloody go out on a date then!" he chuckled.

"I did _ask_ him, but he never got back to me."

"...Okay. That _is_ true. Ask him again."

"Drop it, John."

"No – you two actually need this. You need each other. He got really antsy when you were in hospital. Even more so than usual."

The train quote came to mind when she thought about what John was saying, however it was gone within an instant.

"Drop it, or I'll hack you from my laptop."

"Like you're able to do that..."

"I took apart Sherlock's laptop and reassembled it with new pieces when he spilled acid on it. And Mycroft has offered me a job to do with the fact I'm a computer whizz."

"...So you _can_ hack my laptop from yours?" John asked carefully. If Mycroft was offering Katrina a job, then _maybe_ he shouldn't be messing with her.

"Yep. I could mess around with your blog if I wanted to."

"Please don't."

"She'll just install a virus while you're sleeping," came Sherlock's voice from the kitchen. The pair of them jumped, and then they turned their attention to the detective who was sitting on the stool at the island in the kitchen. He was studying something under the microscope.

"You tip-toed out of the shower..." Katrina mumbled.

"No. You two were merely engaged in that rather riveting conversation of yours. Oh, and we are going on a date, as you would put it. Next week. I made a reservation."

"Oh my god."

John dropped his mug.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh yeah. Sherlock went there. I wonder if you have any predictions on how it'll turn out...<strong>

**Also, I'm not going to say if any of you were right or not in regards to the mysterious employer from the previous chapter. You're gonna have to wait a while to find out about that one. Hehe.**

**-OL**


	20. The Date: Trafalgar Square

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and favourited! I really hope you enjoy this next segment - especially this chapter. Fluffiness abound!**

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><p>"Where's Sherlock?" Katrina's muffled voice came from behind the bedroom door.<p>

"He's with Mrs Hudson," John called back to her as he was in the kitchen, making himself dinner. "Why?"

He heard the bedroom door open and the footsteps of Katrina as she wandered out into the open. John turned round and the sight he saw caused his jaw to drop open. She was wearing a light blue dress – it matched her eyes – and it went to just above her knee. The dress itself had fairly chunky straps and was tight on her torso, but it flared out in gathers below the waist. All in all, it was _not_ what John had been expecting on Katrina, but she looked rather beautiful in it.

"Too much?" she asked him with an unsure expression.

"You'reabsolutelystunningwow," he spewed out. Katrina raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

"You look absolutely stunning, Katrina," he managed to stop gaping at her. "I – wow, I really wish it were me taking you out tonight. Really."

"Just because I look pretty?" she folded her arms and smirked at him.

"No! No – not because of that, I mean – yes, it _is_ part of the reason, but – it's just – you're going with _Sherlock_ of all people, so who knows how it's going to turn out? You're intelligent and you're beautiful and I – I'm not even attracted to you romantically and all the rest of it, but _wow_," John was growing redder and redder in the face with each word that came out of his mouth.

"I think I might go change into something that's more classy and not as over the top. Well – to be fair, I only own two dresses..." Katrina muttered as she walked back off towards the bedroom, and John felt like he could breathe again.

A few minutes later, Katrina returned wearing a black dress that again fell to just above her knees. It looked like it was made of velvet, and essentially had no sleeves save for the lace bardot neck. The dress was slightly looser on the upper body, but flowed nicely from her waist downwards.

"Nice shoulders," commented John, winking at her. She rolled her eyes.

"This is more '_date with Sherlock Holmes,'_ don't you think?"

"Definitely. The other one was _'date with John Watson,'_ material."

"Brilliant," Katrina gave him a double thumbs up.

"If you're going to do lipstick, by the way, go with dark red."

"I'm going with lip balm..." she told him with a strange look on her face. "I didn't know you were such a make-up guru, John Hamish Watson."

"I'm not I just thought that – hang on... wait... how do you know my middle name?" he scowled at her, folding his arms.

"I really _do_ love Sherlock," she replied with an air of smugness about her, which quickly vaporised when she saw the look that John was giving her. "I love Sherlock in the context he gives me all the information on you. Not – not like _that_. Dear lord..."

Katrina was shaking her head as she went back to the bedroom, coming back again with a pair of black low-heeled shoes, cardigan and a clutch. She went into the living room to sit down on the sofa and put them on just as Sherlock walked back in.

"Nearly done?" he asked her.

"Hmm mm..." she went after she had slipped on the shoes and put on her cardigan. Katrina stood up and was about to make her way out of the door, when Sherlock blocked her with his arm.

"What was wrong with the blue dress?"

"How the bloody hell did you – oh never mind. It was just far too _John Watson_ for me," she smirked at him.

"John Watson _can_ hear you, you know..." the man in question poked his head round the corner. "But have fun you two – god knows you need it... I'll be enjoying a quiet night in alone."

"Don't forget to delete your internet history, Johnny boy," Katrina glanced back at him and winked, causing the blogger's cheeks to turn pink. Sherlock looked down at her proudly before allowing her to move pass him. He grabbed his coat and off they went.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock..." Katrina began a few minutes after the cab had left Baker Street. "Why did you suddenly decide to go on a date with me?"<p>

The detective was silent for a few moments.

"I thought it wouldn't hurt," Sherlock shrugged. "The only reason I don't date is because I consider myself married to my work, and you were... well, you were a part of that. Diamond Girl," a hint of a smile came to his face.

"So you're doing this because I was – and still probably am – a case for you?" she wasn't exactly impressed by that.

"No. It's because you're an intelligent, witty, beautiful woman with a passion for computers and it makes you so wonderfully human. So wonderfully _you_. Besides..." Sherlock reached across the small gap between them and took hold of her hand. "I quite like you."

"I quite like you too, Sherlock," Katrina turned her head towards him and was pretty much grinning at him now. She then realised her face was beginning to feel warm. "Oh god, I don't want to be blushing," she face palmed with her free hand, and Sherlock just laughed at her. "Stop it!"

"No."

"Just because you like other people's pain when it works to your advantage..." she nudged him gently with her elbow, her face slowly returning to its normal colour, and so she lowered her hand back to her lap.

"You know what?"

"This is going to be more fun than we both thought it would be?" Sherlock said it for her.

"Oh yes. Definitely."

* * *

><p>About half an hour later, they arrived at Trafalgar Square – teeming and bustling with people more so than usual, considering it was five o'clock and therefore rush hour. Sherlock paid the cabbie and they stepped out in the busy crowds, still holding hands.<p>

"Why are we here? I thought we were..."

"We are," Sherlock told her as he began to make his way through the mass of people. "But that's not until seven. I thought we could come and people watch for a while."

"You like people watching?"

"It's what I do all the time, when you think about it."

They were coming up to Nelson's Column, and naturally it was heaving with people. Tourists, more specifically. They were unable to go round the marble-like bars, so Sherlock let go of Katrina in order to swing over it, while Katrina took the option of crouching down and shuffling under it. As they made their way towards the base itself, Sherlock did a bit of a jog up and vaulted onto the stone base. He held out his hands to help Katrina up, and for a few moments, they watched as people attempted to climb onto the slippery lion statues – it hadn't rained, it was just near impossible to get on them – before they moved towards the centre and stepped onto the next smaller bit of platform, where they sat down and leaned against the column itself.

They were silent, but they had clasped hands once more. They were merely taking in the sight of Trafalgar Square as the sun began to lower in the sky and the workers hurried across the square in order to reach Charing Cross and get their trains on time. The irony of it all, was that despite everything being so loud, it was in fact rather peaceful, just sitting there and watching the world move on around them. Katrina shifted closer to Sherlock, letting go of his hand and instead linking her arm through his. He gave her a curious look, but she didn't notice.

"The lights will come on soon," he said to her.

"I know."

"Have you ever seen it? Trafalgar Square at night?"

"I can't say I have. I tend to avoid Central London after five o'clock. It's... just too much, I guess," she made a face. "You can't walk at the pace you want. You have to walk at the pace of everyone else because of the fact they're in such a rush to get out of here. Everyone's just so _rude_ as well, and the cyclists – oh, don't get me started on the cyclists. They think the red traffic lights don't apply to them and the next thing you know, all the people around you are shouting profanities _at_ the cyclist and you're just flipping the guy off."

"You see Central London at rush hour in a very different way to me..." Sherlock commented, a little more than intrigued.

"Of course I do. Likewise, you see _everything_ differently to everyone else."

"It's a curse."

"No it's not. It's a gift. What I would give to be as clever as you, sometimes. It would have helped me out a lot in school, to be honest. I probably wouldn't have gotten picked on so much for being that angry little girl who liked to hide at lunch times," she said that with such bitterness that Sherlock didn't know what to say. Either way, he wouldn't have had a chance because she carried on talking. "I would have been able to shock them into silence. And they would be able to leave me alone. Maybe some of the other teenagers – the quiet ones – wouldn't just go with the flow of what everyone else was saying," Katrina paused for a moment. "Do you come here to sort of... practice? If you see what I mean. You stare at people, trying to pick up details about them and store any patterns you see for later use."

"Patterns?" he shot her a quizzical side glance.

"Yeah... like um... dirt under the fingernails in a certain amount of people all dressed in a certain way suggests they could be working as gardeners for the royal gardens, or something like that," she shrugged lightly. "Then the next time you see someone with dirt under their fingernails, you can say that they're a gardener. See? It's a pattern."

"I... well, you definitely have the right train of thought there. I just don't see it as a pattern," Sherlock told her. "Why do you see it as a pattern?"

"Because lines of computer code are essentially patterns. Certain things in Maths are patterns too," she replied quite brightly.

"I can't argue with that logic. You like to see patterns in everything because that's just what you do."

"I don't _like_ to see patterns, I just _happen_ to see patterns."

"Much like how I'm able to determine someone's life story without wanting to. I notice. I observe. I don't like it sometimes, so I just _happen_ to do it."

They fell silent again for a few minutes.

"I want you do make a deduction for me," Sherlock said. "On that man there, on his phone," he told her in a lower voice, due to the fact the man in question was standing a few metres away from them to their right. Katrina turned to look at him. She studied the man for quite sometime, and she listened very carefully to what he was saying down the mobile phone.

"He's... He's French..." she began slowly. Katrina wasn't afraid of Sherlock telling her she got it wrong, but that didn't mean she _didn't_ want to get it right. So she was being careful. "I don't really understand French all that well – I only did it at GCSE – but... but I think he's telling her he can't make it back to France tomorrow. He's got to work longer hours. He's not lying because... well... can't you hear it?"

"Hear what? How can you tell he's not lying?"

"The love in his voice. Upset. He's upset because he can't go home and see the woman he loves," Katrina sighed and then stared down her lap, a slight frown on her face. Sherlock looked down at her for a few moments, trying to determine what was wrong, when he realised exactly what it was – love.

"Have you... have you ever been in love, then?" he asked her delicately.

"Once," Katrina stated. "Long story short, it was at university, I went out with this guy for... hmm, well, I met him when I first started university – doing Maths because I liked it – and he was in the same class as me, blah blah blah, all that romantic, cliché stuff – and after we left university, we were still together. For about a year. Then... well, he said that he didn't like the fact I was temperamental, that I was too stressy, that he couldn't figure me out, that because of all that I couldn't _really_ be in love with him because I'd only uttered the words about three times in the course of our four year relationship. My heart was shattered for quite some time, and I haven't seen him since. It's why I'm more... it's why I prefer relationships where it's just mainly sex. I've had a few of those. Longest relationship I've had _without_ any prospect of love laster for just over a year."

Sherlock definitely didn't know what to say to that. He definitely didn't realise that Katrina had lived her life the way she had all because one stupid, idiotic person didn't understand her. Love was still an alien concept to Sherlock, so he could see why she was unable to tell the person that she had loved at the time that she loved them. It was a huge commitment, but you didn't necessarily have to tell a person you loved them to let them know it – you could just show it.

Eventually, he was able to say something to her.

"What do you mean, he couldn't 'figure you out'?"

Katrina sighed.

"He said I was like an atlas – I could open up to him and show him the obvious places, but it was hard to pinpoint where he could go from there. It was hard to find the details," she hesitated for a moment, then a smile cracked out on her face. "How the _hell_ he managed to get a degree in Mathematics, I will _never_ understand. He was pretty thick in a lot of places."

Sherlock let out a deep chuckle.

"Well – I suppose you're lucky I can understand you. Love is a strange thing. It's why I tend to avoid it," _you only get hurt if you love_, he thought, reminded of his childhood pet.

"Same here."

"We definitely are more alike than we thought."

"Hmm..." Katrina didn't really have anything to say to that, except to agree to it. She stared out at the twin fountains as if in a day dream, when she realised that it was beginning to get dark. The fountain lights were coming on.

"Look at them," Sherlock said barely above a whisper, a small smile hidden somewhere in his voice as he too stared at the lights of the fountains – blue, green and red. "They change colour every now and then. But..." he unhooked his arm from Katrina's and jumped up. He grabbed her by the hand and descended down the smaller platform onto the base, bringing her round the corner to look in the general direction of Marble Arch.

The city was alight – it was _alive_, for all Katrina could think. The bright yellows and whites and oranges of Central London shone proudly as the day finally turned dark. It was cloudy overhead, but nobody needed to see the stars anyway when they had _this_ wonder to behold. It seemed so silly to be in awe of some lights, but when one witnesses the dancing ones of London, one truly becomes in awe of them – as just Katrina was at the moment.

"I – I never realised you liked this so much."

"I am unaware of the beautiful – I am _always_ unaware of it – but London has its own league of beauty that everyone should witness. It's not just the battlefield and it's not just the people's life stories I see. I see London as a wonderful thing. The heart of the British nation," he said to her, turning to look down at her, smiling. Katrina smiled back at him, and couldn't help but wonder in her mind if she had somewhat touched his heart, considering how special London was to him.

"Come on. Let's go to dinner," he let go of her once again in order to lower himself off of the base of the column. It was a fair drop down, but he was over six feet tall and so it didn't matter too much to him. Katrina, however, was near enough five feet eight and required some help from Sherlock getting down – especially since she was in heels too, and didn't fancy dropping down to the ground in those.

So she sat down at the edge of the stone base, and Sherlock took hold of her waist while she placed her hands on his shoulders. In one swift motion, Sherlock had placed her gently down on the ground and linked his arm through hers as they walked off towards the road to hail down a cab.

* * *

><p><strong>I told you it was fluffy! I actually really liked writing this bit, considering I know Central London quite well (I go there a lot), and believe me when I say that Trafalgar Square at night is absolutely stunning. If you're ever out in London for the day, just go there when the sun sets and watch the magic come to life. I thought it would be something Sherlock would like (because who doesn't like pretty London lights?) and it is quite hard to convey something so wonderful in writing, but I hope I did it justice. :)<strong>

**-OL**


	21. The Date: Dinner Gone Wrong

**I'm glad you all liked the last chapter - if you want some more Shertrina fluffiness, check out my one-shot "Close Your Eyes." Enjoy this chapter!**

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><p>"I'm still surprised."<p>

"About what?"

"You know what."

"Yes, I know _what_, but I want _you_ to tell _me._"

"Fine..." Katrina didn't say anything for a moment, staring down at her fish.

"Well... go on," Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I'm trying to think of a witty way to say it."

"And there I was, thinking that your wit came naturally..." he gave her a mock-disappointed look.

"Oh it usually does, but sometimes it requires thinking for it to be clever."

"I'm starting to wonder whether your witty statement is actually going to _be_ clever."

"Well – you'll be very surprised. Just like I'm surprised at the fact that a high-functioning sociopath took a somewhat dispassionate vengeance seeker out for dinner – and it's _not_ even the start of a joke," she looked up at Sherlock and grinned at him.

"You describe yourself as a dispassionate vengeance seeker?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

"It's a very good term to describe me – I'm too... angry."

"That you are. Although it seems to have quelled as of late."

Katrina was silent.

"Yes. I noticed," Sherlock carried on. "You appear to be... well, I guess one word to describe it would be _happier_. Is there any particular reason for it?"

"Am I not allowed to be happy?"

"Yes, you are – everyone always seems to be happy," Sherlock rolled his eyes. It was all still a strange concept to him – emotions. He'd only really just grasped onto what lust was. Slowly getting there with happiness. At least he could determine the construct of beauty – even though that wasn't an emotion strictly speaking... "There's always a reason for it, however."

"That magic word again," Katrina said after she had eaten a little more of her food. "_Reason. _What to know why I'm happy? You and John."

"Me and John?" he looked a little confused.

"You two are my friends. Really quite solid friends... but then again I'm putting it down to the three of us being fucked up in some way."

A light gasp was heard from a nearby table, and Sherlock smirked just as Katrina started giggling.

"You can't swear like that, this is a fancy restaurant," he told her before chuckling himself.

"Well then you should have taken me somewhere else," she winked at him, and Sherlock merely shook his head before he began surveying his surroundings. He had finished eating, and Katrina was almost there, but was taking her sweet time with it. The place they were in was quite small, and a little bit more on the expensive side but that didn't matter, really. For some reason, the slight outburst of shock from that woman because of Katrina's language had put Sherlock on alert. There was always something that could potentially happen.

"I could have taken you someplace else, but this is rather secluded spot away from the rabble of the world," Sherlock turned back to Katrina and shrugged, keeping an ear out.

"I see..."

Silence, apart from the odd murmur of chatter from the people around them. A couple out on an anniversary dinner at the table next to them, a group of about four men behind Katrina for a business meal, and dotted around were other various couples and some people who were probably just friends.

"Sherlock?" Katrina snapped her fingers in front of his face. She had finished her dinner. "Are you even listening to me?"

He stared at her intently for a few moments, before leaning forwards, beckoning for her to do the same. She pushed her plate to the side so that she could rest her elbows on the table.

"If or when I say the words _vatican cameos_, you are going to duck underneath the table with me, do you understand that?" he told her in a low voice.

"Okay... but why?"

Sherlock couldn't answer that.

"You can't even switch off, can you?" Katrina rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, folding her arms. "Brilliant. The one time I think you're taking a night off and you're not."

"I would have done if I hadn't had _listened_ to what was going on."

"And that would be?"

"Business men behind you," Sherlock mirrored her stance, only looking slightly more smug. She sighed, but then tilted her head to the side as she decided to listen in on the conversation.

"–Listen to me: if we don't do this, then we're all dead," said one.

"Metaphorically speaking – he won't hurt us, but maybe _she_ will," said a second voice.

"Myers? Ha! She won't do anything because she's been told to keep out of sight."

"But does she listen to _him?_" came a third.

"You'll actually be surprised... he pays her a _lot_," said the fourth and final voice. A click of the safety of a gun could be heard being turned off.

"Oh my god, Sherlock..." Katrina's eyes widened. "Myers. As in–"

"Alexandra Myers, from the Philosophical Tracks case, yes..." he pressed his fingers to his lips to signal for Katrina to keep quiet.

"Do you know what wine they ordered?" said that first voice again.

"Yeah. They already have it."

"I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with this."

"Then you can leave. Just _leave_. We'll get your money from you tomorrow. Get the fuck out of here."

The scraping of chair legs could be heard against the floor, and the hurrying footsteps of a man as four now became three.

"Well he's out."

"He's _definitely_ dead."

"Fuck him. He doesn't matter anymore."

"I just want to know why they needed four of us."

"It apparently looks less inconspicuous."

"I suppose it's easier to pass _it_ on so _it_ can get into the drink."

"This is a twisted experiment."

"It's necessary. _He_ needs to find out. _She_ just planned it."

"Do you know what's going on?" Sherlock asked Katrina as he sipped on the last of the wine in his glass.

"Somebody's been poisoned," she stated. "Question is – who?"

"We don't now."

"If we don't know, then why are you still drinking your wine?"

"Ah. Good point. Don't drink any more of yours," Sherlock put down his glass and looked pointedly at Katrina's. Then he frowned. "You have a soft drink."

"Exactly. And they were talking about _wine_, you idiot," she picked up her glass with something that could be described as 'perkiness' and she had a relatively large gulp of the drink, before setting it back on the table.

"We don't know what poison it is either."

"Nope."

Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment.

"Bugger," he finally said. Katrina shook her head at him.

"You are the great Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, you use reason as an answer to everything and yet the most eloquent word that can come out of your mouth in this situation is _'bugger.'_"

"Maybe I did switch off. I've been switched off for most of the evening," Sherlock then pointed out to her. He then look at his watch. "It's nine thirty. We've only had a starter and a main and we've been here since seven o'clock. What time did we order our drinks?"

"Umm... I don't know? Maybe about seven thirty?" Katrina gave him an odd look.

"I've been merely sipping on the wine?"

"You've been merely sipping."

"White wine is about eight-point-seven percent, red is more often ten percent. I've had white so if I've been poisoned I'm more likely going to notice the effects sooner rather than later," Sherlock reeled off quickly and with ease. "Do let me know if I begin to look and act differently."

"Please stop talking like that," Katrina muttered, her features becoming more delicate and vulnerable. "Because if it _is_ you that's been poisoned, then how am I going to help you?"

"I'll know which one it is," Sherlock reached over and placed his hand on top of hers. "And I will tell you what the antidote to it is before I pass out from loss of conscious or before I start spouting foam from my mouth," he gave her a wry smile, but it didn't nothing to reassure her. She just looked down. "Although... what are the chances of it being me?"

"One in thirteen."

"That's very precise."

"There's seventeen people in this room and four of them don't have wine."

"Good observation," he let go of her hand.

"I learn from the best," Katrina looked up at him and gave him a tiny smile. They didn't say anything to one another, and the waiter came along to clear up their plates, asking if they wanted anything else. They said no, for the time being, and off he went.

"Katrina..."

"Hmm?"

"Remember what I said to you earlier?"

"Yes."

"Vatican cameos–"

A gun shot fired out, narrowly missing Katrina's head as she and Sherlock slipped under the table, along with everyone else in the room as they heard the shot. Some people were screaming, and there was a suspicious thud as something – or someone – dropped to the floor. Neither of them could see underneath table, considering the table cloth was in the way. It was a bit of a tight squeeze there, and Katrina was practically half on Sherlock.

A few more shots fired out, and two more thuds could be heard.

Then the screams stopped.

Everything was deathly silent, and it seemed like nobody was breathing.

Sherlock and Katrina were the first ones to peak out from the table, and they stood up, taking in the damage around them. The three business men were all dead. One had shot the other two and then had shot himself. A pool of blood was making its way towards their table, and they hastily backed away from it, just as the other occupants of the restaurant made their way out of hiding.

"Well it seems like they're all dead now," Katrina commented on the conversation the men had been having. "All except one. Sherlock?" she turned to look back at him, to see he was staring at the back of his hands. "Sherlock, are you all right?"

"I'm bleeding," he presented his hands to her.

"Oh my god..." Katrina tentatively took hold of his fingers. "Jesus Christ – you knew it was you. You _bloody knew!"_

"Katrina..." Sherlock had gone pale – more pale than normal. "Kat..."

"Okay, sit down..." she carefully placed him back into his chair, and he sat in it, slumped. "Tell me."

"Kat..."

"Sherlock you need to tell me!"

"Tell you...?"

"Poison. Sherlock, what's the poison and how do I stop it?" she crouched down in front of him, a hand on his knee.

"Kat..." he was having some trouble keeping focus on what was going on. "Kat, Kat, Kat, Kat, _Kat."_

"Oh god... Is there a doctor in here?" she called out to the other people who were watching the scene. "Anybody?"

"I'm training," piped up a small voice, coming towards her. He was tall, lanky and looked very timid. "I'm in my third year of medical school."

"You'll do. What's your name son?"

"Stephen."

"I'm Katrina. Don't call me Kat unless you want a smack. I hope you're good with toxins, because my date has been poisoned and we need to stop it."

"We should call an ambulance and while they're on the way, we can figure out what's going on."

"Right... yeah... okay..." Katrina felt about on the table for her clutch, not taking her eyes off of Sherlock – he was looking at her with confusion – and as soon as she got hold of it, she dialled nine-nine-nine and told them what was going on and where they were. When she had done that, she hung up and didn't realise how worried she was until it was pointed out to her.

"Miss Katrina? It will be all right," said Stephen, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder.

"I just – I just need him to tell me what he needs... Sherlock... if you can work out what's in your system, then tell us how we can get rid of it."

"Kat, I'm tired..." Sherlock mumbled to her.

"Jesus Christ... use that head of yours Sherlock. Use that brilliant head of yours..."

"Eight minutes," he suddenly said.

"Until what?"

"Ambulance."

"Not helping."

"Vitamin K."

"What?"

"Vitamin K."

"I need it."

"You need Vitamin K?"

"Yes!"

"Find some," she turned to Stephen. "I'm not a scientist or a doctor or a consulting detective. I'm a technician. Go and find something that's got Vitamin K in it and I'll find you a date."

"Excuse me?" Stephen looked slightly taken aback, but he gulped nervously.

"Oh please, nobody calls an older woman with the term 'Miss' before her first name unless he's got issues with women – go and find something with Vitamin K."

He scurried off towards the kitchens.

"Good observation," Sherlock repeated his words from earlier. He then winced. "My arms hurt."

"Your hands aren't just bleeding – they're bruised too. Now shut up. We've got six minutes until professional help gets here."

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, so... remember Alexandra Myers? She's not disappearing so easily. She's still getting involved, but why? Dun dun dun...<strong>

**Comment?**

**-OL**


	22. The Date: Being Sherlock Holmes

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and favourited!**

* * *

><p>"Miss Katrina!" Stephen called out, near enough scurrying back into the room, holding a bottle of milk. "Vitamin K!"<p>

"Christ, that was quick..." Katrina drew her attention away from Sherlock to take the milk from the approaching medical student.

"It's a dire situation."

"Brilliant observation, now find me a clean glass, please," she told him, unscrewing the cap of the bottle, acutely aware of the fact that all the occupants of the restaurant were watching this strange scene unfolding before them. Stephen grabbed an empty wine glass from one of the empty tables, presenting her with it so that she could pour the liquid into it.

"Why do I feel unwell?" came Sherlock's voice, and Katrina looked at him to see he was squinting at her in confusion. She thrust the glass of milk out to him.

"Drink the Vitamin K, you fool."

Sherlock raised his hand to take the glass, but then he caught sight of his bruised and bleeding hand. Katrina let out a quiet sigh, before pushing the glass against his lips, trying to get him to drink it.

"Four minutes," she muttered to him, and he eventually grabbed hold of the glass, downing the contents.

"More."

Katrina gestured at Stephen and he kept on giving the dairy product to Sherlock. Meanwhile, the woman paced up and down in front of them, muttering to herself.

"What to do... what to do... what to do...?"

As far as she was aware, she had near enough four minutes to try and figure who exactly planted the poison. So she decided to go through the facts. There were three dead men on the floor, all of which had been working for Alexandra Myers, who was clearly working for someone else – someone else unknown, and the men at the table had been unsure as to who put more fear into them: Alexandra or the mysterious male employer. One of the men had run away, feeling nervous about the entire situation.

"Why... why... why..."

She stopped in her pacing, and stared at the bodies on the floor. It made her stomach churn a little, but nonetheless she had to look at them all the same.

"You," she randomly pointed at a woman. "Why would there be four men out here to attempt to kill one man?"

"Uh – I don't – I don't – maybe so it would look less suspicious."

_Well, they did look like business men..._ Katrina thought. "Did you notice anything before _we_ got here? Anything at all?"

"Two of them got up and went towards the mens room," the woman was now looking in that direction. Katrina followed her gaze and realised that the corridor that led not only to the bathroom, but to the kitchen too. It was quite like a branch of Frankie and Benny's she had once been to in a dreary little town in Kent when visiting relative when she was about twenty.

"Useful information. I'll store that in my hard drive..." Katrina blanched, somewhat shocked at herself. "Never using that phrase again," she said to herself. "What to do... what to do... what to do...?"

"Be like me," Sherlock piped up. "God, I feel sick."

"Right, better stop making you drink this then..." Stephen prised the cup from Sherlock's grasp and set it down on the table.

"Be like you?" Katrina turned and raised an eyebrow at the currently incapacitated detective.

"Two minutes. Solve it. Solve it in two minutes. Solve the _why_ and the _who_."

"How?!"

"Be like me, you _fool_," he retorted. "What would Sherlock Holmes do?"

Katrina had a small moment of panic, the words _I'm not a detective, I'm a technician,_ running through her mind over and over, until they were replaced with words Sherlock had told her earlier that night. _You're an intelligent, witty, beautiful woman with a passion for computers and it makes you so wonderfully human..._

_Intelligent._

_**Intelligent.**_

That was all she needed to use. Her intelligence. That was what Sherlock did every day.

"Gloves! Leather or latex – _now."_

One of the restaurant goers threw a pair of shiny brand new leather gloves at her, and she hurriedly put them on, going over to the one of the dead men – specifically the one who had been sitting closest to her. That one that had seemed to have been in more control of what was going on. She put them on and rooted around in the dead man's pockets, eventually pulling out his phone. Katrina stood back up and looked at Stephen.

"I need you to say the words _'something's gone wrong. Get him to our table,' _understand? Do your best deep voice..."

Katrina scrolled her way through the phone contacts until she reached on that simply said _Her_ and dialled it. As soon as _she_ picked up, Katrina put it on loudspeaker and held it out towards Stephen.

"Uhh... something's gone wrong. Get him to our table," he said in a deeper voice, looking uneasy.

"_...God fucking damn it. He figured it out. We need to get him almost dead to see if Jenkins will do anything for him – and I literally mean anything."_

She hung up after that, and Katrina tossed the phone to the ground, peeling off the gloves and tossing them back to their respective owner, who caught them with a disgusted expression. It was understandable – Katrina had used them in order to find a dead man's phone and not leave finger prints.

"Thirty seconds," Stephen said, and Katrina noticed a waiter come back out and pour more wine into Sherlock's glass – the one that _hadn't_ had the milk in it.

"_Stop that waiter and grab the wine!_" she cried out and Stephen grabbed the bottle of wine while the woman she had randomly asked a question along with the man whose gloves she borrowed went and tackled the waiter to the ground.

At that same moment, paramedics came rushing into the vicinity and so did Lestrade along with Donovan, Anderson and the rest of the police force.

"Hey Sherlock, back up's here," Katrina shot him a half smile, while the medics tended to him. "Oh, he's had milk, by the way... milk apparently contains Vitamin K if that helps in regards to what he's been poisoned with..." she then swiped the bottle of white wine from Stephen and handed it to Anderson. "Murder weapon. Actual murderers are dead on the floor and one just got thrown to the ground at my request."

Lestrade gave her a bemused look.

"You solved this?"

"Hmm mm."

"You say you're not a detective..."

"Sherlock's life was endangered and it was my duty, as his date, to make sure he didn't die," she grinned at Lestrade.

"Christ, you two were on a date?"

"Yes. But more importantly, does anyone want to know how I figured it out?"

"How did you get that it was the waiter?" Stephen asked her excitedly.

"Well... when Rocky over here," she gestured to the woman who was now standing up as the police handcuffed the waiter and began to lead him away. "Mentioned that two of our dead guys went to the bathroom, it got me thinking that they would have passed the kitchens, or at least one of the waiters – and only the waiters would really have access to the wine used here for drinking. So clearly one of our guys needed to slip the poison to the waiter for him to put in the wine, while the _other_ guy actually needed a piss."

"Anything else we need to know?" Donovan asked.

"The one who organised it all was Alexandra Myers. Again. But there's someone else involved, but we don't know who. Also there was a fourth guy, but he got nervous and ran off."

"Right. Thank you, Katrina..."

"Also sorry for punching you about four or five months ago?"

"It's fine..." Donovan sighed, smiling slightly as she walked off to talk to the other witnesses.

Then the sudden sound of retching made Katrina look at Sherlock again. The medic was helping him empty his stomach – by making him drink the milk? She couldn't help but watch fascinated as he vomited back up the milk along with his dinner, but not before she started feeling sick herself and had to sit down and look away.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Stephen came and stood next to her. "Our stomachs can only hold a certain amount of milk before it's actually rejected entirely from our bodies."

"Wonderful..." Katrina said weakly.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not good with sick..."

"Ahh. I see."

"Oh! But our deal still stands. There's a woman who lives in a block of flats near Oxford Circus. Her name is Isabella Jenkins and she's my sister – six years younger than me, so about twenty five," Katrina took a pen from her clutch and scribbled out the address on a napkin, handing it to Stephen. "I don't like her very much, but I owe it to you."

"Is she a horrible person?" he asked, confused.

"No – well, to me, she's horrible. Maybe not to you. Tell her that _Katrina sends her regards._"

"I – I will do," he gave her an awkward smile. "Thank you, Miss Katrina."

"...Oh Stephen... get out of here," she chuckled, and he did just that. After a few moments of just sitting there, watching as the police cleared out the place and went to go and find the chefs, other cooks and waiters and waitresses, Katrina felt a familiar hand on her bare shoulder. She looked up and behind her to see Sherlock, now a little better for wear. As soon as she paid him attention, he removed his hand from her shoulder and took his coat from his chair and placed it around her shoulders. She put it on properly.

"Perhaps we should get out of here too?"

"You should be going to hospital."

"I'll be fine. That milk did me good – _you_ were good."

"Really?"

"You solved a crime in eight minutes. That's impressive," he held out his arm and Katrina stood up, looping hers through his, picking up her clutch as they went. "Want ice cream?"

"Sherlock... you really be–"

"I know. It's a very good thing we have our own doctor at home then, isn't it? Besides, it didn't have time to work its way fully into my system," he said as they walked out of the restaurant, the view of many nosey eyes.

"But you were... dopey."

"Dopey?"

"Yeah. Dopey."

"I was beginning to lose focus, yes... but I had... well, I had reason enough to trust you in solving it quickly."

"Oh yeah?" she quirked an eyebrow. "What reason was that?"

"An A* and a level 7 in Computer Science – your intelligence. You can be like me when you want to be. Now. I was being serious about that ice cream..."

"Can't we go for hot chocolate?"

"Fine."

* * *

><p>A while later, they were sitting in the little café called 1882, and it was along The Strand, somewhere. They were surprised the place was even open at this time, but it meant it was entirely empty and silent. That was nice after the madness of that night. The hot chocolate was <em>proper<em> hot chocolate – melted chocolate and milk, heated lovingly together and poured into large mugs.

Sherlock and Katrina were sitting by the window of the café, watching as the cars went by along with the occasional person. Eventually Katrina took to staring at Sherlock – she noticed he looked a little uncomfortable.

"You've really never been on a date before, have you?"

"What makes you say that?" he snapped his head round.

"You're tense. I noticed it at the restaurant too. You did all this just to satisfy a curiosity about normal interactions between people and because it was something I wanted to do..." a sincere smile came to Katrina's face. "Thank you, Sherlock, really."

He swallowed.

"You're welcome."

They continued drinking their hot chocolate in silence until it was time to go home.

* * *

><p>Upon returning home, Katrina kicked off her shoes and pulled off Sherlock's coat, collapsing face first onto the sofa, then flipping over and using the cover as an impromptu blanket. Sherlock watched her with an amused expression before he too removed his own shoes and sat on the arm of the sofa, watching her with curiosity – as always – as she snuggled down quite happily under his coat.<p>

"Comfy?"

"Hmm mmm..." she went contentedly.

"Does this mean I can sleep in my own bed tonight?"

"You could still sleep on here."

"...With you?"

"Yep."

"It would be a bit... cramped," he raised a brow at her.

"Cramped but cosy. You kind of owe me a big hug after tonight."

"...Hmm. You did save my life. I owe you something. A favour, perhaps?"

"Maybe this can be the favour..."

"Yes it could. And then you would owe me," he smirked at her.

"Fuck. I forgot this was how it worked with us."

"Like what?"

"A game. It's a game of favours."

"I suppose it is..." Sherlock shooed Katrina so she would move right up to the back of the sofa, and crawled under his coat with her, an arm around her shoulders. He allowed her to lie right on top of him. "Hmm. Cosy."

"Told you..."

"Go to sleep, Kat."

"You go to sleep too, uhh... Shezza?"

"Shezza?"

"Night Shezza..."

The two of them were totally unsuspecting the next morning of John coming into the living room, and, seeing the oddly cute sight before him, take a photo and send it to Lestrade who sent to everyone else at Scotland Yard.

Nobody told John about how Sherlock hand bruises on his hands – they didn't even mention the fact there had been an incident. Because Sherlock had remained completely fine. Except for maybe needing a paracetamol at one point in the evening, but that was it.

* * *

><p><strong>Yep. Shezza. She called him Shezza. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the fluff as was promised!<strong>

**-OL**


	23. Katrina's Blog: Post 1

_A Blog.__ – __03/03/11_

_So I decided to start a blog, following in the footsteps of my friend John Watson. He tends to blog about the crimes that he solves with Sherlock Holmes – and more recently, ones that I have helped solve with them. Sort of. And recently, I genuinely solved a case while on a date with Sherlock (don't even __**ask**__), except I ended up solving it by myself._

_You see, if you've read John Watson's blog, then you'll know about the Philosophical Tracks case, where for somebody's amusement we were tied to some train tracks and there was this whole thing where somebody had to pull a lever that would either divert the train down a sidetrack (where __**I**__ was tied) or it would drop a guy from a bridge and he would land in front of the train. Naturally, because I am still alive, Sherlock managed to pull the right lever and the guy dropped and the train stopped._

_Turns out this... this woman organised the whole thing and we thought we wouldn't hear of her again. Until the date I went on with Sherlock. I don't know __**why**__this happened again, but she keeps on toying with us like we're puppets on a string. Four men were employed to essentially keep an eye on Sherlock and I at this really lovely restaurant and there was a fifth man involved – a waiter – who had to slip some poison into the drink that Sherlock had. It was white wine, that Sherlock had to drink that night. I had Coca Cola. I was safe anyway, because it wasn't me they were after._

_As soon as we realised Sherlock was the one to be poisoned there was a little bit of a massacre in that three of the five guys ended up dead. One ran away beforehand and one was safely tucked away in the back of the restaurant by the kitchens, because he was the waiter. Obviously, we didn't know it was the waiter at first. Anyway, cue slight bloodbath, everyone terrified for their life and Sherlock starting to feel the effects of the poison. Bruised hands, and bleeding under the skin. Slight delirium. Confusion. And that left me to solve the case in eight minutes._

_I say eight minutes, because of the fact we had called an ambulance (Stephen if you're reading this: hi! I don't think I properly thanked you for calling for help. How's my dreadful sister?) and that's how long it takes for an ambulance to arrive from the hospital. But yeah... we took one of the dead guys' phones, and called the woman in charge and bippity boppity boo, I figured out it was the waiter. Stephen (oh, he's a medical student in training. He was at the restaurant and I needed help. God. I __**cannot**__ tell things in a chronological order) had to put on a voice and request to send in the other one, or something to that effect. And then the waiter came out to top up Sherlock's glass and that was thirty seconds to spare. Then the police and ambulance turned up._

_So... what was the poison and how did Sherlock survive? Well, the poison was actually an anticoagulant. I can't remember which one, but it's used to help thin the blood, if you're prone to stroke or heart problems. But if you've already got a normal blood thickness (I'm not a medical expert) then this stuff is pretty toxic. Especially considering the fact that it was laced in the wine in high amounts. The antidote to that is Vitamin K, and I was quite thankful to have Stephen there, because I sent him off to the kitchens and he came back with milk. Full of Vitamin K, didn't you know? Anyway, Sherlock kept drinking that until he started feeling sick, then when the paramedics came, they made him keep drinking it until he threw up. Lovely. But apparently there's only so much of a milk our stomachs can handle all in one go before you puke it all back up again. Rejection at its finest._

_Yeah. So that was that. I promise I'll get better with my story telling as this goes along. I've been reliably informed that I'm "rubbish at recounting events in a coherent manner." Sherlock ahs just peeked over my shoulder as I type this. He's also just reminded me that I haven't actually said my name, even though it's the blog address._

_Hello. Katrina Jenkins at your service._

_Well, not __**really**__ at your service, but you know what I mean. Happy blogging and all that crap._

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

COMMENTS

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Sherlock Holmes  
>0303/11 at 17:08

_You forgot to mention the part where I told you __**how**__ to solve the crime._

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Katrina Jenkins

03/03/11 at 17:12

_You could have told me this while I was typing._

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Sherlock Holmes

03/03/11 at 17:15

_This is more amusing. Oh! One of my laptops has a virus on it. Did you put it there by any chance?_

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Katrina Jenkins

03/03/11 at 17:18

_Crap. Sorry. Forgot to take it off. Leave it out overnight and I'll work on it. That virus was a bit more deadly than usual. Although not deadly enough to wipe the pictures of the crime scene at the restaurant up – nice puddle of sick, by the way._

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Sherlock Holmes

03/03/11 at 17:25

_...Shut up._

––––––––––––––––––––––––

John H. Watson

04/03/11 at 10:27

_Sherlock was poisoned and you didn't think to tell me?!_

––––––––––––––––––––––––

ANONYMOUS COMMENT

NAME: Stephen

04/03/11 at 13:30

_Hi Katrina! You're very welcome. And thanks for setting me up with your sister. She's not all bad :)_

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Sherlock Holmes

05/03/11 at 21:47

_You set up John Junior with your sister?_

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Katrina Jenkins

05/03/12 at 21:50

_You were there when it happened..._

––––––––––––––––––––––––

John H. Watson

06/03/11 at 14:50

_John Junior?!_

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Katrina Jenkins

06/03/11 at 15:50

_Also John: yes, Sherlock was poisoned but he was FINE. Yes. Stephen is a mini you because he's a doctor in training, basically._

_Oh, Sherlock, John: we could easily just talk this out. We all live under the same roof..._

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Sherlock Holmes

07/03/11 at 14:23

_Katrina where the hell have the pictures of the crime scene gone?! You said the virus wasn't deadly enough!_

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Katrina Jenkins

07/03/11 at 14:57

_...I lied._


	24. The Hounds of Baskerville: Free Reign

**This is a Sherlock/John light chapter. Either way, we get more Mycroft!**

* * *

><p>"Where were you earlier this morning?" Sherlock asked Katrina as she entered the flat.<p>

"I was out on a bike ride..." she quirked an eyebrow at him as she hung up her coat.

"Motorbike?"

"Of course. Why do you want to know?" she flopped down on the sofa, staring at Sherlock as he typed away at something on the laptop.

"I was wondering if you'd want to come on a case with John and me, down in Dartmoor. We had a client this morning and you missed him," he hastily snapped the laptop lid shut and turned to look at Katrina.

"Dartmoor?"

"Yes."

"What's the case?"

"Gigantic black hound terrorising the locals and the moors. Some say it's a genetic experiment from the Baskerville research facility that's escaped."

That seemed to pique Katrina's interest, and she sat up a little straighter.

"Baskerville?"

"You know of it?" Sherlock raised and eyebrow at Katrina, and she fell silent for a few moments. However, before she could even speak again, Sherlock connected two and two. "Did you – by chance – _hack_ them?"

"I did a few days ago..." she mumbled.

"Why?"

"Your brother asked me to."

"Why would Mycroft want you to – oh never mind. He just wants to see how good you are," Sherlock waved off the situation entirely, having deemed it a normal occurrence. A slight smile tugged at Katrina's lips, because simply from her four second silence, Sherlock was able to figure out that it was his brother who had set her up to try and access information from a government facility as a sort of test. "So are you coming?" Sherlock then asked, sounding and looking quite hopeful.

"No."

"Why not?" his face fell.

"Not a detective," she went over to him a patted him on the shoulder.

"But your intelligence–"

"Nope. That's not swaying me this time, Sherlock," she leaned down a pressed her lips to the top of his curly head before sauntering off to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

"What will sway you, then?" he called out to her as she put the kettle on.

"Nothing whatsoever."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Oh."

"...You're _actually_ going to admit defeat in all of this?" Katrina raised an eyebrow as she put a teabag and a teaspoon of sugar into a mug. That comment certainly seemed to rile up Sherlock.

"No! I am _not_ admitting defeat!" he protested.

"_Well_ it certainly sounds like you are."

"But I'm _not_!"

"You sound like a child."

"No I don't!"

"Sherlock, I am _not_ coming to Dartmoor with you and that is final," she told him, pouring the now having been boiled water into her mug, and then gently stirring the teabag around until it was the right strength and concentration. She then binned the teabag and poured in the right amount of milk, stirring the tea three times more and then it was ready to drink. Katrina turned with the mug in her hand and leaned back against the counter, a satisfied expression on her sharp features as Sherlock merely scowled at her with icy eyes from the living room.

"Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. _Fine!"_

He stomped off to his room to pack.

"Well, anything you say five times is _obviously_ true!" she yelled after him, trying to ensure that laughter didn't escape from between her lips.

* * *

><p>"So are you really not coming?" John asked Katrina as he and Sherlock were about to leave.<p>

"Nope. I'm having a break from the life of crime, if that's all right with you," she told him.

"It would be nice if you _did_ come..."

"Sorry you have to be subjected to your friend on your own for a few days," Katrina rolled her eyes with obvious sarcasm.

"Right..." John paused for a moment.

"Call me if you need anything – that goes for Sherlock too," she smiled softly at John. "Have fun with the gigantic black hound in Dartmoor. Now get out of here before Sherlock gets pissy," Katrina went over to the window and glanced out of it, where Sherlock was waiting at the steps of 221B.

"Yeah. Have fun on your own."

"See you in a few days."

"See you then... oh by the way – just because you have free reign of 221B does not mean you can clear Sherlock's experiments out of the fridge!"

"Yes, _mum_."

* * *

><p>Later on that day, Katrina received a call that she didn't expect. It was from Sherlock. Honestly, even with her offer stating for them to call her if they needed anything, she didn't expect it to happen, purely because it didn't make much sense. However, after staring bemusedly at her phone for quite some time, she eventually picked it up.<p>

"What do you want?"

"_We're about to do something highly illegal. I thought you might want in."_

"Well, good afternoon to you too, Sherlock..." Katrina sighed. "What is it?"

"_Are you on your laptop?"_

"Err. Yes," she turned to look back at the computer screen and spotted the time. It was about one o'lock. She had developed a habit of being on her laptop around about that time, or at least Sherlock's laptop installing various bits of malware and whatnot. It was fun. It was her hobby. And he'd caught her at the perfect time.

"_Do you still have that software Mycroft gave you for hacking Baskerville?"_

"Yes... what do you want me to – oh my god! Sherlock! You want me to hack them _again?!_"

"_I thought you'd want to!"_

"Why?!"

"_Because you... well, you like it."_

Katrina was silent for quite some time, trying to think of a suitable way she could dispute that fact and failing to do so.

"_Kat, are you still there?"_

"Yep. Tell me exactly what you want me to do, and I'll do it," she said, opening up the programme.

"_John and I need at least half an hour in there. If we do this on our own, we're only going to get about twenty minutes. I'm going to need you to prevent Mycroft's people from alerting the security at Baskerville that we've broken in there."_

"If I do that, Mycroft will take away my software," she pouted.

"_I'll steal it back – you won't be without it so stop pouting."_

"How the fuck did you–"

"_It was obvious. Now. Will you do this?"_

"Yes," she said, exasperated.

"_Brilliant,"_ Sherlock then promptly hung up and Katrina groaned loudly, setting to work.

* * *

><p><em>Didn't work.<br>__-SH_

_What do you mean?  
>-KJ<em>

_We lasted exactly 24 minutes.  
><em>_-SH_

_I got your four minutes extra.  
><em>_Ungrateful shit.  
><em>_-KJ_

_Rude.  
><em>_-SH_

_I get it from the best.  
><em>_-KJ_

_You were rude before you met me.  
><em>_-SH_

_Whatever. I still got you four more minutes.  
><em>_-KJ_

_I suppose you did.  
><em>_Thank you.  
><em>_-SH_

_You're welcome, my dear.  
><em>_-KJ_

_...What?  
><em>_-SH_

_Nothing. Don't worry.  
><em>_-KJ_

* * *

><p>She had been lazing about the next day after that, namely lying on the sofa and having a sleep, or watching the dull television programmes, perhaps even indulging in a book. It was safe to say that Katrina was bored. Perhaps she should have got to Dartmoor with them after all.<p>

Maybe she still should go anyway. But could she bothered with going?

Probably not. Not that it mattered too much anyway. She wasn't a fan of the country – and by no means was she a fan of having to travel all the way to the _West_ country. She had nothing against the West country, apart from the fact it took bloody ages to get there.

Katrina sighed, distracted from her book now.

She began to wonder if it was because she missed the adrenaline rush from running around and solving a crime, or the boost of confidence she would often get if Sherlock told her she did something right, or the satisfactory feeling she would get when she and John managed to outsmart Sherlock on something. Then that led onto wondering if she was just missing the boys in general.

She got on with them brilliantly, and now 221B was just too damn quiet without them there. Katrina always got on well with John; he was easy to talk to and just absolutely _lovely_. Sherlock on the other hand, while a bit annoying, Katrina was able to identify with him and perhaps there was something there that she admired about Sherlock more than just a friend. She was still unsure on that part.

It was strange – so very _strange_ – how a man like Sherlock could get inside her head so easily. How his words buried themselves deep inside her skull where they swirled around like a poison that eventually entered her veins and took over her entire body, until she was nothing but what Sherlock had said about her. It rarely happened, but when it did, it scared her. Not very much, but enough to make her think about it for prolonged amounts of time – 'it' being what he would say and how she actually felt.

Luckily for Katrina, those thoughts were interrupted by a visit from the British government himself.

"Bored, are we, Miss Jenkins?" Mycroft's familiar drawl came from the doorway. Katrina sat up straighter on the sofa.

"A little bit."

"I have a bone to pick with you."

"I figured as much."

"You helped Sherlock break into a highly classified government facility–"

"Which you had me hack the other day, and your point is?" Katrina tilted her head to the side gave Mycroft a sickeningly sweet smile. He scowled at her – at first – before he looked somewhat impressed.

"Well, I can't dispute that, can I?" he went and settled himself in Sherlock's armchair.

"Nope."

"You really are like Sherlock in _so_ many ways. Always disobeying orders."

"It's more fun," she shrugged. "Why are you here? Not that I don't enjoy your company, I'm just curious."

"I was wondering if you'd actually like to take up that job offer."

"Again?"

"It's well-suited to you. Besides, you passed my little test..."

"Oh I did? Brilliant. I still don't want the job. Flattery will get you nowhere, by the way, your brother tried that on me yesterday," she waited for Mycroft to speak, but he did not say anything, so she continued. "What is it with you Holmes boys trying to get me to do stuff with them?"

"You're not like anybody we've ever known. Besides the selfish value you hold to us, you are actually a charming person to be around..."

"Stop with the flattery. However, it's good to know I'm just simply an asset."

"No – no, I didn't mean it like that–"

"Then tell me what you did mean, Mycroft," Katrina rose from her seat and made her way over to the man, folding her arms and giving him a stern look. He sighed, staring down at the ground for a few moments.

"He won't say it, but you do mean a lot to him."

Softness flashed across Katrina's face for a moment.

"He means a lot to you too."

"We're not doing this again, Mycroft," she murmured. "I am _not_ talking about my feelings for Sherlock with you – _fuck!_" she growled out angrily, near enough stomping away from him and towards the bedroom.

He'd unintentionally played her, and now it was time for him to take his leave.

* * *

><p><strong>So yeah. Actual accidental admittance of feelings by Katrina there, to Mycroft about Sherlock.<strong>

**Next chapter things get very fun for me. Not so much you guys... but oh well. Eheh.**

**-OL**


	25. The Hounds of Baskerville: Mistakes

**There's been a bit of a review drop! Come on guys, feedback is always good! Anyway, here's the next one.**

* * *

><p>She'd only received a couple of texts later that day, informing her of how things were going in Dartmoor. Apparently Sherlock was most definitely onto something and that he would get back to her about it the day after. He wasn't entirely sure yet because he hadn't investigated properly, but she honestly did mind when and <em>if<em> he actually got back to her about it.

Katrina was still reeling in the fact she had essentially admitted her feelings for Sherlock to his irritating _brother_ of all people. It was an accident, however, and she sincerely hoped that Mycroft did _not_ say a single word to Sherlock. If he did, then there was a chance of alienation from the detective, because proper emotions were not his forte. He could admit to perhaps caring _slightly_ about those who were very close to him, but that was about it.

It wasn't like the feelings were strong, but they were still there. They were present enough that if they were disputed, there would be a definite knock to her ego. At least she was able to brush them aside for the time being, until they _really_ mattered.

Which came sooner than she thought.

The next day, she got a call from Sherlock, which was somewhat surprising. How much of an emergency was it this time? Well... it didn't necessarily have to be an emergency for him to have to call anyone.

"I thought you preferred to text," she said as she picked up her phone.

_"I do, but... I just felt like talking,"_ he sounded uneasy.

"What have you done?"

_"I may have... well, I may have annoyed John."_

"More so than usual?"

_"Yes."_

"What do you want _me_ to do about it, hmm?" she asked him. "I'm in London – you're in Dartmoor. You're on the other side of the country!"

_"Tell me what to do,"_ he pleaded with her. Katrina let out a long sigh.

"You apologise to him for anything you did, okay?"

_"But all I said was– John!"_

Katrina kept on the phone, listening as Sherlock clearly caught sight of John and went after him, trying to apologise, but evidently failing. The conversation became more unclear to her as the minutes passed by, however there was one moment where Sherlock raised his voice.

"_Listen. What I said before, John, I meant it. I don't have friends. I've just got one."_

It were as if ice cold water had been thrown over Katrina and was sinking into her skin, eventually _becoming_ her. It wasn't something completely different from her, it _was_ her. And it all happened within the space of three seconds, that feeling. Was this some strange sort of karma for her admitting to possible feelings to Sherlock and now she was having them thrown back in her face?

"_If I'm your only friend, then what's Katrina?"_

"_Not a friend."_

"_Clearly. Sherlock... you are aware that she has been living with us, right? That you went on a date with her?"_

"_Yes! I am aware of all those things, John! I just – I don't know what she is to me. She's not a friend, she's not an enemy. She's just... there."_

_There..._ that seemed to echo around her mind – and it would probably remain for a long time.

"_She has feelings, Sherlock."_

"_All normal people do. No matter what she says to me, I still remain they're a hinderance."_

"_Sherlock..."_

"_She's clever, but she's never going to adjust to this if she doesn't help out on cases like this!"_

"She's also still on the fucking phone!" Katrina shouted down the receiver, and everything on the other side went silent for a moment.

"_Sherlock, you are a prat."_

"_John – wait! Katrina..." _his voice was much clearer now, meaning that he was talking to her down the phone normally again.

"So I'm just _here_? _There?_ Am I waste of space just because I sometimes can't deal with the crap you have to deal with?!"

"_Yes."_

The answer was like a slap in the face.

"Have you been playing me?"

"_No."_

"Then why are you doing this?" she didn't know exactly _what_ she was feeling right now.

"_You once said it yourself you're a dispassionate vengeance seeker. The total opposite of a high-functioning sociopath. You're too emotional. I'm too full of reason."_

"Are you saying we can't really work?"

"_Yes – no – I don't know."_

"For once, Sherlock Holmes doesn't know. Wonderful."

"_Was that sarcasm?"_

"Oh so you can detect sarcasm but you can't tell when you've hurt someone's feelings!" she snapped at him.

"_If you're talking about John–"_

"I'm talking about me, you prick."

"_Katrina... if you ever did harbour any romantic feelings for me, then I honestly wouldn't be able to reciprocate..."_

"I know that. I'm perfectly fine with that," _lies._

"_Oh. Really?"_

"Yes. So I believe your earlier comments about me just being '_there'_ were entirely unnecessary," Katrina could sense that she was beginning to get a bit choked up, not wanting to continue the conversation in fear of crying.

He was a hard man to deal with.

This is why she didn't want to have feelings for him – because of how he viewed them.

"_Perhaps."_

"Perhaps?!"

"_Okay. Maybe not necessary."_

"Correct answer," she mumbled.

"_Are we going to continue this conversation, or are we going to wait until I'm done with this case?"_

"We can wait. I know you're eager to get it solved..." she sighed again. "I should go."

"_Me too."_

"No – I mean, I should probably get out of Baker Street for a bit. I'll bug my sister."

"_Katrina – no. Don't. Just because of what I said–"_

"It might make things easier..." it was definitely the easy way out of this situation.

"_You do mean something to me."_

"Right."

"_No – you do. I just don't know what it is yet."_

Katrina fell silent, contemplating his words. Was this _his_ way of apologising to _her?_

"_Katrina?"_

"I'm still here. Maybe I'll leave for a couple of days. I have job interviews to attend and... maybe something away from crime for a little bit might do me good," that was surprisingly enough, the truth.

"_Okay."_

"When you figure out what I am to you, you tell me straight away, okay?"

"Of course. Goodbye for now, Katrina."

"Bye Sherlock..." she hastily hung up and shoved her mobile in the pocket of her jeans.

Deciding that a walk might be a good idea, Katrina stood and went to put her coat on, making her way downstairs.

Except she wasn't even able to make it out of the building.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs and moving six steps along the flat floor, something cold was pressed against the back of her head and she froze. Time seemed to pass so slowly in the next six seconds before anybody spoke.

"Hands up, Miss Jenkins," came an Irish voice which she wished had no familiarity. She obeyed the command, and held up her hands, arms bent at the elbow, with her palms facing out. The slightly shorter figure of Jim Moriarty soon appeared in front of her. "Hello again."

She didn't say anything.

"You _can_ talk, you know. Seb's not going to shoot you unless I say so."

"Right..." she managed to get out in a breath.

"Back upstairs, sweetheart," Jim gestured and Katrina turned round – Sebastian Moran also turning with her, keeping the gun barrel pressed against her head at all times – and she slowly made her way back upstairs. It seemed to take an effort for her to even move her legs now, hence the slowness. Yet all the same, the living room was reached, and with that came more instructions from Moriarty.

"Over at the desk. Pen and paper," he told her. She did as he commanded, and she didn't notice until she had sat down at the desk that Moran had stopped by his boss at door to 221B. A quick glance told her he was tall, with cropped brown hair and brown eyes. Kitted up all in black.

Katrina sat down at the desk, extracting a pen and a pad of paper from within, and set them out on the table.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked quietly.

"I want you to write these _exact_ words," Moriarty came over to her, essentially hovering over her shoulder. "_Sherlock and John. I known I mentioned leaving for a few days, but I've actually had to go back up north for a little bit. One of my relatives has died and my presence is requested at the funeral. Much love, Katrina._"

She was careful in writing down those words, knowing that Moriarty was watching her dove hands with eyes like a hawk; there was a chance for the dove to perhaps escape the clutches of the hawk's claws, but when there was a second predator on the scene, it was harder for the dove to even attempt a getaway, and flapping wings of the prey were entirely useless in these circumstances.

Katrina finished writing down the short note, and sat still for a few moments.

"What now?"

"Now... now you come with us. You can either come quietly or you can come... well, the _other_ way..." Moriarty raised an eyebrow. "Not sure you'd like the other way _that_ much really. Nobody does. It's a shame, because I rather enjoy it."

"I imagine you would," she commented. "I'll come quietly."

"Passive."

"Actually, there's a difference between passive and being careful. I'm choosing to be careful, especially because you have a man with a gun and there's a gun in your jacket pocket – is that Westwood, by any chance?" she turned to him and raised an eyebrow back. A light smirk crossed his face.

"He's rubbed off on you."

"You don't say."

"I'm not going to lie – I thought it would be _boring_ if I had to deal with someone similar to Sherlock Holmes... but actually, I think this is going to be quite fun. Emotion and reason is a _strange_ pairing, isn't it?" he cocked his head to the side, his smirk becoming a full-fledged grin.

"Oh don't get me started on that," Katrina rose from her chair with more ease this time. "Are we going to go, or what?"

"The fact that you're eager really disturbs me," he gave her an odd look, but there was underlying sarcasm in his statement.

"It's not that I'm eager, I just want to get this over and done with so I can..." she paused for a moment.

"Finish your conversation with Sherlock?"

"Something like that... you listened in on the phone call."

"Yes. I did. Phone tapping is _brilliant,_ don't you think, my sweet hacker? Seb here can do it, but I suspect you'll be better."

"What a way to offend your right hand man..." she glanced over at Moran again.

"I pay him, so he doesn't really mind. Let's get out of here, sweetheart... the fall is about to begin."

* * *

><p><strong>Yes. I went there. Review?<strong>

**-OL**


	26. Compliantly and Quietly

Being cooperative was nothing short of odd for Katrina, who knew that if it were any other sort of situation she wouldn't be so compliant. But this was Jim Moriarty, and she didn't exactly want to get on his bad side, not when sitting in this car with a blindfold on and knowing that Sebastian Moran still had a gun trained on her opposite. She was able to remain as calm as possible, no matter how much she wanted to scream blue murder.

If anything, she was surprised that they didn't bind her hands, but then again, she supposed that was down to the fact she was coming so willingly. The logic behind being so willing was because it meant that she might be able to get out of this situation quicker, and of course there was the fear of Moriarty there too. But namely it was just to get back home quicker.

Katrina didn't know how long she was in that car for, but at some point she had gotten out and was led somewhere that caused her footsteps to echo around her, and eventually she was forced into a chair. The blindfold was ripped off of her and she found she was in a somewhat dank place, abandoned – or was it under construction?

"Could have picked a better spot..." she murmured as Moriarty sat in a chair across from her.

"I only go for the worst when I want something done."

Katrina gave him an odd look, and placed her hands calmly in her lap.

"We're at the Battersea Power Station."

"Oh, you're _no_ fun," Moriarty groaned, and then he promptly dragged his chair closer to her, so that their knees were merely inches apart. He leaned forward and studied her face for a moment – in retaliation, Katrina leaned back a little, not wanting the consulting criminal to get _too_ close to her face – even though months before they had been drunkenly kissing in a bar in Soho.

Silence fell between them as he simply stared at her. Then he relaxed back in his chair – as did Katrina – and he let out a breath. It wasn't exactly a sigh, it was more like he was trying to mentally prepare himself for something, and the release of air was simply a warning sign of some form that something was going to happen shortly. There were only three people present – Moriarty, Katrina and Moran, and so the woman began to wonder exactly what _was_ going to happen. She had been good at remaining calm up until this moment...

"Do you want to know what I'm going to do with you, sweetheart?" he asked her. It seemed as if her curiosities were going to be answered, and Katrina wasn't sure if she _wanted_ them to be answered now. So she merely shrugged. He let out a light laugh. "_Well_, since you're _so_ interested, I'm going to make you know a fear that you've never known. When I'm done with you, you're not even going to be able to tell _anybody_ what happened. That's how bad it will be."

There was a mischievous glint in his eye, but it was malicious and full of a hateful longing to watch Katrina suffer. She squirmed under that gaze of his, and he grinned at her.

"Oh good, I'm getting somewhere."

"I'm not a fan of the elusive."

"That's a lie."

"The _negatively_ elusive psychopaths, if I should correct myself," Katrina bit her lip as she glanced down at her hands in her lap. He really _did_ know a lot about her. It was disconcerting but she knew the reason why. It was everything he could use against her, and he had already planned _what_ he was going to do but she wouldn't know _when._

"Hmm. So what's dear Sherlock, then?"

"The elusive high-functioning sociopath."

"That doesn't necessarily mean it's a _positive_ thing though, does it? He won't ever love you, you know, even if he _is_ on your side and you two have had a little _rendezvous_ every now and then," Moriarty paused for a moment, and Katrina's eyes narrowed.

"How do you even _know_ that?"

"For a start it's obvious. Secondly, I know a man who told me everything I needed to know. It's amazing what sort of power you can achieve when you know things... of course, I'm _not_ the chief of knowing, that's someone else. That's someone else's job really. I'm just here to do whatever I can to make you crack. Beg. Scream. Cry for Sherlock Holmes, because you two have been going through a rough patch and when he finally finds out about _you..._ that will be the penultimate blow of the fall."

"That's the second time you've mentioned _'the fall.'_ What is it?"

"The only way I can win the game between Sherlock and I, and the only way _you_ can lose the game between yourself and Sherlock."

She fell silent for the time being, trying to digest that information. It was all so very vague, but she was beginning to understand at least ten percent of what was going on. Katrina then let out a shaky breath. It was the enigma of Moriarty's plans that was really beginning to worry her now. She was getting to the verge of _really_ wanting to scream blue murder, but it was useless. Nobody ever came to Battersea Power Station. Nobody would hear her. Although she did open her mouth and small, strained sound came out. Moriarty chuckled.

"And now you're at a loss for words. Hmm. I was expecting more witty comments considering how you've been so far. But you'll be screaming soon."

"I don't like that idea," her stomach began to churn at all the different possibilities of what could happen.

"That's the whole point," he told her in an exasperated voice. "You're not _supposed_ to like _any_ of this – you're supposed to be more _scared!_" Moriarty raised his voice so suddenly at Katrina that she ended up recoiling back so quickly in her chair that she fell out of it and onto the ground, knocking her left elbow badly in the process. Numbness shot down her arm and into her pinky finger and ring finger, the numbness shortly being replaced by a prickliness as they regained feeling. Muttering a few curses and flexing her fingers, Katrina looked up to see the usually short figure of Jim Moriarty looming over her, before he crouched next to her. "That's more like it..." he said softly, and she cringed, sitting up so that she was near enough the same height as him.

Katrina knew that Moran was standing right behind her, and suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder that resembled a pin prick. Almost immediately after that small amount of pain had gone, she slumped forward, her fingers stopping in their flexing as she tried to keep herself from falling to the ground again into a pit of darkness that swam in front of her eyesight, however she failed in that respect. Dizzy and confused, Katrina lay down on the concrete once more, the last person she saw and heard before she blacked out was Jim Moriarty.

"It's time for you to sleep now, sweetheart..."

* * *

><p>Katrina wasn't even sure if she had woken up or not, because it was absolutely pitch black. The damp smell that filled her nostrils told her that she was still at Battersea, hidden and locked away somewhere. Her limbs felt weak and weary and her head was still foggy from the drugs that had been forced into her system. However, slowly but surely, she was able to sit up, and she carefully rested back against the wall, terrified, but still breathing slowly. She wondered how long she had been out and what time of day it actually was, and whether there as even a window in here.<p>

Although the window was seeming less and less likely.

She tried to formulate a word, but her throat was dry. Instead, she ended up making a slightly strangled sound that echoed around the room, bounding back into her eardrums and reminding her of her unfortunate fate, as if it weren't bad enough already.

"Don't talk. Not yet," a cool, male voice said from the other side of the room. He was softly spoken, but not in the somewhat disturbing way like Moriarty. It was surprisingly soothing, given the situation.

Footsteps began to make their way closer towards her, and she shuffled away when they got too close.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she felt him sit down next to her. "Sebastian Moran. We've not really been introduced properly."

"It–"

"Shh. Just shut up," it wasn't exactly a _snap_, per say, but he was intent on her not talking. "I'm going to put on a light, but slowly, all right?"

There was a slight _ping_ of elastic and something was dropped onto the floor, before a dim light was placed near Katrina and carefully brought up to full brightness. She blinked a few times, trying to adjust to it, but then she saw the face of Moran and shuffled away again. He rolled his eyes, but didn't comment on it.

"It's five in the morning, in case you were wondering," he told her. "You're wanted at seven. I thought you might want some time to mentally prepare yourself."

Katrina didn't say anything, knowing that he'd just tell her to shut up again.

"Sleep."

"No," she said to him in a raspy voice. Even though she wasn't looking at him, Katrina knew that Moran had raised an eyebrow at her. It was obvious. "Do you have any water?"

"Nope. Can't give you anything until about midday."

"Brilliant..." she murmured sarcastically. "Why are you here?"

"To keep an eye on you."

"Right..."

"I had night vision goggles."

"Okay..."

"Just a warning – don't do anything stupid."

"Why are you being like this?"

"Like what?"

"Surprisingly... civil," Katrina almost said _'nice'_ but realised there had been a better word for it. Moran was hesitant in his answering.

"This isn't a particularly great situation for anybody present except for my boss," he paused again. "I have to go," he then promptly stood up and took the light with him. "See you in a couple of hours."

A door was opened momentarily and then shut and bolted before Katrina could even protest. She sighed in defeat, lying back down on the floor again and shutting her eyes, drifting back into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p>The next time Katrina woke up, she wasn't in the dark room anymore. She was somewhere else with an artificial light source, cuffed to a chair and facing a stone wall. Her shoes were gone. Footsteps approached her from behind.<p>

"Morning," came the Irish voice of Moriarty. "You would have been woken, but this was more fun, in all honesty. You waking up in your own time in an unfamiliar place, just like the first time... now. I want you to tell me more about yourself."

"I thought you already _knew_."

"Weren't you listening?" there was obvious annoyance in his voice. "I'm not the one who _knows_, I'm the one people come to when they want something fixed. So do you want to this as a sweet little question and answer game – which would bode well for _you_ – or would you rather do it my way?"

"I still think you already know what you _need_ to know."

"Fine. You're right on that part. But it means we're going to do things my way," Moriarty snapped his fingers and Katrina nearly looked round but ended up not doing so, deciding it was against her better judgement. Her breathing was already becoming quicker in fear of what was to come. Something was then placed on her shoulder and she peered down at it.

"Right..." she said, calming down ever so slightly upon knowing what it was. "I'm not scared of spiders or tarantulas," she then commented with a raised eyebrow as the hairy creature started making its way down her arm. "They're fascinating."

"You'll be scared of spiders one day," Moriarty replied, a slight smirk on his face, and she shuddered at the thought. Soon enough, the tarantula on her arm was gone. "Do you like riddles, sweetheart?" he asked her suddenly.

"Only if they're good," she replied dryly.

"Well, this one's good – but it's not exactly a _riddle._ More like a clue."

"Go for it."

"_Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,  
>By famous Hanover city;<br>The river Weser, deep and wide,  
>Washes its wall on the southern side;<br>A pleasanter spot you never spied;  
>But, when begins my ditty,<br>Almost five hundred years ago,  
>To see the townsfolk suffer so<br>From vermin, was a pity."_

Katrina felt the colour drain from her face, and Moriarty stepped into her line of vision.

"_Rats!  
>They fought the dogs and killed the cats,<br>And bit the babies in the cradles,  
>And ate the cheeses out of the vats,<br>And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladle's,  
>Split open the kegs of salted sprats,<br>Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,  
>And even spoiled the women's chats<br>By drowning their speaking  
>With shrieking and squeaking<br>In fifty different sharps and flats."_

"Please stop..." Katrina stared down at her lap, avoiding looking at Moriarty.

"Not until I get what I want," he sighed. "Which is my own personal satisfaction about what happens to _you_ and anything extra you might happen to tell me in the process."

"But I don't – I don't know what that is."

"You're intelligent enough. You'll figure it out soon."

He disappeared from her view and a few moments later she heard the door open and the footsteps leave, only to be replaced by a scurrying sound that seemed to amplify as the seconds went by. The door was then slammed shut just as the furry little rodents were scuttling around by her feet. Due to the fact her legs were bound to the chair legs, Katrina was at a loss and unable to move them at all.

Looking around the room in panic, she realised they were covering the entire floor and that the room was shaped like a thin rectangle, her only means of escape at the other end. Katrina struggled against her restraints with tears in her eyes, panic setting in, and her being frozen in fear. She hated rats. She was terrified of them. She was just thankful that they hadn't been put in a bucket, placed on her and heated. That would have been far worse in her eyes.

Eventually, as the feeling of them around her feet began to become too much to bear, her thoughts and limbs slowly began to unlock from the cage that was known as fear, and she tried to manoeuvre the chair around in a pitiful attempt to get the hell out of there. It took her a while to rotate the chair around – she was partially sobbing when the door was in her direct eyesight – and that was when the two worst things could have happened.

The rats were starting to nip at her ankles and feet.

Then the chair fell over.

And she was simply left crying in a room full of rats, praying for the first time in her life for somebody to come and get her out of there, because she had no voice to scream.

* * *

><p><strong>Well on the up side, we get to see Sherlock and John again in the next chapter.<strong>

**Literally, that is the only up side in all of this.**

**Comment?**

**-OL**


	27. The Realisation

Two days later and she hadn't cracked yet.

Katrina still attempted trying to get out of that godforsaken room only to no avail. Every time she fell over, and every time the rats seemed to be hungrier. Every time she tried to scream, no sound came out and she was left there for fifteen minutes, silently crying until she was taken back to the room she had started out in. The only up side was that there _had_ been a window in that room – albeit a _small_ window – and it was open to allow in some light.

It was after the third time she had been removed from that room that Katrina simply curled up in a ball in the corner, underneath the crappy window and cried.

She didn't know how long she was going to be there and that thought was perhaps the worst of them all. She could _die_ here, without knowing how until the very last moment when her life was gone in a flash. It was now that Katrina was beginning to regret a few things – her relationship with her sister, the way she had left things with Sherlock, the way she had left things with Mycroft, and the fact she hadn't even said goodbye to John properly.

Sincerely, she hoped she did not die.

But there was a very high chance that she could.

Katrina that if she somehow faded away right there and then, she'd known about it. That was purely because her bite wounds were still stinging, and she was certain that the ones on her ankles and feet were infected. Tetanus jab or not – wounds that were constantly reopened were bound to become contaminated.

Contaminated...

Her entire body felt like it had been contaminated. Lying among those rats and crying, they had been able to scuttle all over her, leaving her with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and smelling faintly of the rodents. It still felt like they were running about inside her mind and taunting her when she was alone, simply because she was scared of them.

She wondered if Sherlock and John were afraid of anything. They'd never exhibited signs of fear in front of her, so maybe they weren't. She was admiring them for that. They weren't people who were scared and she wanted to be able to _not_ be afraid of the rats. She wanted to get rid of the scampering and the squealing from her head and she was unable to do so if she was terrified like she was, curled up in the corner and silently crying over the situation she was in.

Eventually she heard the door open and she flipped over to face it, fearing that it would be more rats. She only relaxed a small amount upon seeing it was Moran. He was carrying a large bowl and a black bag. He sat down in front of her, setting the objects down on the floor – the bowl was filled with water. Or it might have been ethanol. Ethanol would make more sense.

"Sit up," he told her softly. When Katrina didn't move, he sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

"But you shot me a couple of months ago," she murmured shakily.

"On the orders of one Jim Moriarty," he raised an eyebrow at her.

"You didn't _want_ to shoot me?"

"No. Not really," he paused for a moment. "I mean, I know I'm an assassin, but you didn't deserve that – you were innocent in that case. You're innocent now. I just have to do what he says. Usually I go after worse people and it doesn't interfere with my own morals, but... this does."

Katrina was slightly surprised by the confession, and sat up facing Moran, wiping her eyes as she did so.

"This is going to sting, by the way," his eyes glanced over her body and then landed on her bare feet. He gestured with his hand and she gingerly slid her feet closer to him. Moran unzipped the bag and brought out cotton wool and bandages. Dipping the cotton wool in the bowl of clear liquid, he then began to dab at the surprisingly deep bite marks on both of her feet, clearing away any of the dried blood and at the same time sterilising the wound a little.

The pain was irritating, but it was not as bad as when the rodents had been gnawing at her feet, her hands, her face. After a while it became somewhat soothing – at least she still had nerves intact in her feet, and Katrina realised that was a morbidly overdramatic thought indeed. The rats would never have been able to injure her that deeply, not unless she had been left in the room for much longer than she had been.

More tears seemed to fall from her eyes as Moran carried on patching her up. Katrina just felt lucky there weren't as many bite marks on her face as there were on her feet and hands. Soon enough, she had bandages wrapped around her hands and feet and a cleaner face and Moran left her without another word.

The scuttling came back into her mind like an itch. When she was distracted, so it seemed, it would go away; the itch of the rats would go away. But now it came back like a knock to the stomach and she curled up in the corner again, her physical wounds fine but the psychological ones reopening and bleeding out in the form of tears dripping down her face and the shuddering of her body. The time for wondering about her friends was over, because she needed to worry about herself. She wanted out of here, but it seemed like the only exit was death. Katrina did not need any more morbid thoughts than she already had.

She was alone in this place, apart from the civil words of Sebastian Moran, and that was simply that. Until she had emptied herself of her pain, she would not be finding any escape soon.

* * *

><p>Entering the flat of 221B, Sherlock allowed himself to think the words 'home, sweet home.' As exciting as the hound case had been, there was really nothing quite like returning to home comforts and the air of London filling his lungs. However, he realised something was off as soon as he set foot into his bedroom in order to dump his bag.<p>

He sniffed the air.

So Katrina had been serious about leaving 221B, but there was still the lingering smell of her clothes. The large duffel bag was still in the corner. Something wasn't right there.

As he went back out into the living room, he saw John holding a small piece of paper. The blogger looked up at him.

"Katrina's out of town," he said, handing out the paper to Sherlock.

"I know..." he replied quietly, scanning the words written before him, and then reading them aloud. "_'Sherlock and John. I know I mentioned leaving for a few days, but I've actually had to go back up north for a little bit. One of my relatives has died and my presence is requested at the funeral. Much love, Katrina.'_ I want you to tell me everything wrong with this," Sherlock placed the piece of paper back in John's hands so that he could take his coat and scarf off.

"Err... nothing's wrong with it, as far as I can tell."

"Look deeper," he went to go hang up the items of clothing he had just removed.

"Well... she's not really a family person, so why would she go to a funeral?"

"Good. Keep going."

"She never mentioned to me she was leaving."

"Carry on..."

"Her hand writing looks different."

"Excellent," Sherlock praised John. "She was forced to write this."

"_What?_"

"You heard me," he shot him a side glance. "Somebody's taken hold of Katrina and we don't know why. She was forced to write _this_ so it would seem like everything was fine. The fact that you were able to tell her handwriting was different actually impresses me. Then again, her font is very distinctive. She was ever so slightly afraid when writing this and so rushed it out."

"And who do you think did it?"

"Who do _you_ think?"

"Jim Moriarty."

"I was thinking along the lines of Alexandra Myers' mystery employer," Sherlock shrugged, then he blanched. "Unless Jim Moriarty _is_ the mystery employer..."

"You know, that would make sense," John paused for a moment. "That _does_ make sense."

"She's in a lot of trouble then."

"No kidding."

Silence fell between the two men as they contemplated the situation their friend was in. They were only really going on a hunch as to _who_ had her, and whatever conclusion they came to was not going to be a nice one in the slightest.

"What do we do now?" John asked, breaking the silence first.

"We find her. We should trace her phone and see if..." Sherlock sighed, running a hand through his unruly curls as he began to pace up and down the room. "This isn't like A Study in Pink; Katrina always keeps her purse, phone, _anything_ of importance to her that could be used in a business situation in her coat. And her coat isn't here. So we won't know if her phone is connected to an email account that we trace and– and if we were to try and trace it illegally ourselves, neither of us would be able to do that. We don't have her skills."

John didn't say anything for the longest time – he merely watched as his friend as an inner turmoil seemed to grow within him. Sherlock was clearly _very_ worried about Katrina. He almost seemed guilty about something when he left the bedroom. Something had happened in that phone conversation between the two of them, because Sherlock hadn't quite been himself since then. And the fact that he was at a loss of what to do made it all the more worse. So he continued to watch for a while as Sherlock paced up and down, muttering to himself.

"Sherlock..." he said softly, making the detective stop his tracks and stare at him. "What happened when you last spoke to her?"

"She... she lied to me. And I lied to her all the same," Sherlock said slowly. "She has... she has _feelings_ for me."

"And you don't have feelings for her?"

"No, I don't, but – I told her that it would never work between us, when we're really a perfect match."

John held back a grin. Sherlock Holmes, realising that there was a woman out there who was actually his perfect match? Priceless. Despite the situation, it was _priceless._

"It's cliché and ridiculous, but apparently opposites really _do_ work well," he said it was such distaste and with such an unimpressed look on his face, that John very nearly laughed this time.

"You two are a right pair," he ended up agreeing with him. "Emotion and reason."

"Emotion and reason indeed– _oh!_" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "Before we actually get the police involved, there's one thing I'd like to try first."

"If you're thinking about calling her–"

"They might not have checked her pockets. If Moriarty has her then we'll know for a fact he wouldn't have checked her pockets."

"Err... why?" John looked a bit confused.

"Well for a start, she knows he's dangerous and would have gone willingly. Brownie point there to make Moriarty's job easier and therefore put a bit of trust in her. He wouldn't know anything about what she has in her pockets and he can slip up on the simplest of things – he prefers complicated plots. Also he probably has a small liking of Katrina – I'd go about four percent – because of their little make out session that one time. Nobody would ever forget kissing Katrina that easily," Sherlock chuckled, and when he realised what he said, the smile dropped from his face and he cleared his throat. Having dialled the number he put the phone to his ear and simply waited.

* * *

><p>Moran had not been expecting that sound from her red duffle coat, that was for sure.<p>

It was just very lucky he was the only one around at the time.

So he took the phone from the pocket and answered it, knowing who it was.

"Mr Holmes," he said.

"_I was expecting a female voice,"_ came the response.

"Oh yeah?"

"_Yes."_

"Do you want me to take you to her?"

"_...What?"_

"Listen, you're lucky that I'm the only one here at the moment. You're also really lucky that I have morals and I'm not tossing this phone away like I should be. I'm not even going to describe what's happened here, but she clearly needs a familiar voice because she is fucking terrified."

"_Tell me where she is."_

"That is a liberty I cannot give you. I am loyal to Jim, still."

"_I can have someone trace this call."_

"By which time I would have lied about this entire thing to Jim and we'd be gone from where we are now," Moran told him smoothly. "So go for it. Have the _police_ trace this call back to here. You're not going to find anything when you arrive. Now do you want to talk to her or not?"

"_...Please."_

Walking towards the room where she was being kept, Moran sighed just before he entered. Katrina immediately sat up and was befuddled when he crouched down and handed her the phone.

"He– Hello?" she mumbled quietly and with uncertainty.

"_Katrina..."_ Sherlock breathed down the other end of the phone and she simply burst into tears.

"I – I – _Sherlock_..."

"_Listen to me, wherever you are, I will find you. You're scared, I know you're scared, but John and I are going to find you and bring you back home."_

"Promise me, Sherlock."

"_...I promise. I will always find you."_

Moran gave Katrina a look and she sighed.

"Please hurry," she hung up the phone and gave it back to Moran, who pocketed it.

"If you say a word about this... you'll be testing my morals _and_ my loyalty. I'm already having to lie for you about this. Don't make it any harder. Please," he said to her, and she nodded.

As he was leaving the room he turned back to Katrina.

"I'm sorry about all this."

He was gone.

And she was left alone once more.

* * *

><p>"Get up," Moran had roughly grabbed her by the arm, rousing her out of a fitful sleep. "I said <em>get up!<em>"

Bleary eyed, Katrina obeyed the man and stood, slightly unsteady. As soon as she had allowed him to lead her out of the room, he tossed her red coat at her and waited until she had put it on. Moran than handed her a motorcycle helmet.

"Put it on," he then said. She did so, and he did the exact same. Moran took her by the arm again and was practically running with her across the empty station and out into the open. Katrina thought she could hear the sound of police sirens coming closer at an alarming rate, but before she could even ask, Moran had pulled her over to a motorcycle, he getting on first and she behind him.

Up ahead there was a car with Jim Moriarty hurriedly getting into it and speeding off. Moran revved the bike into gear and sped off after it, Katrina holding onto him like a lifeline.

What started then was an alarming chase between the law and the criminals. Moriarty's car had gone off somewhere and one police following that, whereas the other two were following them on the bike. They were getting steadily closer, and Katrina thought that maybe – just maybe – she would be safe within the space of five minutes.

But when Moran took a detour down a back alley, she knew that was a long shot. She peered over her shoulder and saw one of the police cars pull to a stop, and Sherlock get out of it. He was clearly about to come running after them, but John, Lestrade and others held him back – it really was no use _running_ after a motorcycle.

Soon they were all gone from view, as they turned a corner and carried on making their way through London; to some other unknown place where Katrina would be subject to more madness and the insanity of Moriarty. Upon coming to this conclusion, a sob escaped from between her lips, muffled yet loud at the same time. Moran clearly heard her.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

* * *

><p><strong>So here we get a small explanation of <em>why<em> Moran is being nice. I've got a smallish backstory to that which will probably come at a later point, because I'm so tired of seeing all these BBC!Sebastian Morans that are just Jim's bitch and usually they have little to no backstory either and it's very mildly annoying.**

**Also I should tell you the face claims I have...**

**Katrina: Jessica de Gouw**

**Sebastian: Ben Mansfield**

**If it helps in any way to how you might picture them :)**

**Comment?**

**-OL**


	28. The Thieving Magpie

**Sorry for the delay! I had exams + extended essay + personal statement stuff to do. Anyway, here I am!**

**There will come a point where you will need to listen to this: www . youtube . c o m . watch?v=Ceh0-42FXg0 (just delete the spaces obviously). You will know when to listen to it. It pretty much says it in the chapter, and I did that a) on purpose, b) for my own amusement and c) just because it would make things easier for you guys. However, the exact timing of where bits of music fall into place with what happens in the text is difficult to explain. I suppose I'll let you figure out that one yourselves :)**

**THIS CHAPTER IS POSSIBLY ONE OF THE BEST I HAVE WRITTEN. IT WOULD BE GREAT IF YOU ALL LEFT A COMMENT AT THE END.**

* * *

><p>"Where are we now?"<p>

"Didn't you pay attention on your little journey, sweetheart? Or was the poor little birdy too busy crying?" Moriarty replied, folding one leg over the other as he sat in a chair opposite the woman. She looked down at her lap, somewhat ashamed of herself. "Thought _so..._" his voice rang out in a high pitch. "Anyway, I thought we might have a little chat."

"About what?"

"About you, of course. I'm not narcissistic," he paused. "Okay, that's a lie. So. Jenkins, sweetheart, I want to get inside that pretty little head of yours, if I haven't somehow gotten in there already." A wicked grin sat upon his face. Katrina looked up for a brief moment – and it was that wrong moment, where he was grinning so maniacally at her. Her eyes narrowed for a second and she stared back at her lap again.

"Where am I?" she asked him.

"Just some old flat building near London Bridge. If I were you, keep the screams to a minimum because there are other occupants still," Moriarty said with an air of exasperation. He shook his head and smoothed out his jacket lapels. "Why is Mycroft Holmes so interested in you?" he asked her suddenly.

Katrina's head snapped up, her eyes widened and her hands trembling on her lap. How could he possibly _know_ about any of that? Several theories ran through her head, the first one being that he had tapped her phone. However, she knew that wasn't true otherwise he'd be bringing up the text conversation between herself and Sherlock – the one they had about Sherlock asking her to hack Baskerville. The thought of that made her realise that Sherlock now owed her a favour. It just kept going back and forth and it would never stop – their little game. The game that Moriarty knew about and he wanted to do something that would make Katrina lose. She didn't know how he would do that, and she didn't _want_ to know, either.

The second theory was that he was working with Alexandra Myers, who knew that Katrina had been talking to Mycroft. Although what were the chances of Myers even knowing what they had spoken about? Well, she wouldn't. But she had _seen_ them, and that was enough to go on, wasn't it?

Then the third theory was that Moriarty had been talking to Mycroft, although Katrina couldn't even fathom a discernible reason _why_ Mycroft would even associate himself with Moriarty, unless it were to question him about _something._

The jigsaw puzzle pieces seemed to fall together in her head all at once, and she did not like what she was thinking.

"Why would you be talking to Mycroft Holmes?" she asked him carefully.

"It's a long story and I _don't_ fancy telling you the details." He seemed almost bored with the fact she was skirting the question. "Why is old Holmes interested in you? What do you have that he wants?"

"Skills."

"Of what kind?"

"Computer."

"_Oooh_. Interesting." Moriarty leaned back in his chair, feeling triumphant. "I think you could do something for me."

"No."

"Oh, but you _are_ going to do something for me. You can't back out of this. Unless you want your curly-haired fuck buddy to die, or unless _you_ want to die. Although..." he sat and thought for a moment. "I don't want _you_ dead yet. No, I have too much planned and I need you to do a _lot_ of things for me, Jenkins."

She sat in silence. She did not want to do a damn thing for Moriarty, but if he was threatening her life – and Sherlock's – then she'd have to carry on complying. But it had already gone past the point where she no longer wanted to comply. She wanted out. She wanted out of this little... _flat?_ This little flat she seemed to be in. She was in a _flat._

That meant she wasn't leaving within a few days, or a week. No, she was going to be here for a few months, to say the least. Seriously, what the _hell_ was going on here? This was all too... weird. Not that it hadn't been weird in the first place, but now it was just getting worse. It was getting too confusing. What did Moriarty really want from her? Apart from trying to make Sherlock lose something? She suddenly felt tense again. This was all far from over.

And with the leer that he gave her, her skin began to tingle, as if there was something crawling all over it – _spiders_ – and the scuttling and squeaking came to the forefront of her mind. It enveloped her in the most dreadful of ways, enough to leave her trembling more than she already was, shaking in fear and anger and trying to contain her own tears. But had she not said she was not afraid of spiders? That she was not afraid of him? Yes. She had. And slowly, that fact was becoming a lie. It was the last wall between her mind and the one Jim Moriarty, and it was crumbling. Brick by brick in fell; brick by brick it was pulled cruelly by hand and disposed of into a pile to be stamped upon and set alight. And she was left with only ashes of a wall.

Without that strength, her resolve shattered and she buried her face into her palms and let the tears fall, but she did not dare utter a sound. Katrina was a voiceless person in this situation anyway, and there was no use in screaming or crying out loud.

"It's chilling, isn't it?" Came the whisper of Jim Moriarty by her ear. Immediately, her hands moved from her face to clamp over her ears. "Oh come now, there's no use in doing that. You can still hear me whether you like it or not. You're _always_ going to hear me in the back of your mind for quite a long time now. Me and those blasted rats of yours. D'you want me to continue on with the Pied Piper of Hamelin? Because it seems like you don't know that wondrous fairy tale. You don't know how it ends...

"The Pied Piper played his pipes and led the children away, never to be seen again. That was when he didn't get the payment he wanted for luring the _rats_ away. Now if you're good at English and understand metaphors, then you'll see where I'm going with this. The Pied Piper won't be happy if he doesn't get what he wants done. He needs to finish the game. He needs to _win_. And if he doesn't win? Who knows what'll happen.

"You wanted a fairy tale, didn't you? Sherlock Holmes told you a fairy tale and now that's what you're trying to achieve. Well, lucky for you that's what you've got. You've got yourself a fairy tale and but it's not the one _you_ wanted. Your metaphor has shattered. But it was always going to come to an end sooner than you wanted it to. It was made of glass, just like _you._ Dreams and fairy tales and metaphors that are made of glass will always, _always_ come to an end quicker than anything else in the world!

"Did you really think that he could ever reciprocate anything you might feel for him? Do you think the self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath could ever like a dispassionate vengeance seeker more than just that self-given title? Titles, titles, titles... They're all so _dull_, aren't they? Well, they're _usually_ dull anyway. But you and Sherlock? You gave your titles a little bit of a kick. And they describe you both _perfectly_. Complete opposites of each other, trying to find a way to work and failing in every single respect. I bet you wished you'd never met him, sometimes.

"Are you fragments yet? Are you _broken?_ Because you're a tough one, I can see that, but oh _boy_ those rats had you screaming! Is that what it's like being you? Pretending to be all tough and being consumed by _anger_ that all that's really left is just a little girl who wanted to be accepted by mummy and daddy? Oh yes. I _know_. I have my sources. And my sources know things about you, sweetheart Jenkins – but it's a shame those things aren't bad enough to turn Sherlock and John against you. But you're going to do things that – if they find out about them – will _definitely_ turn them against you. I'm going to have so much fun with you. I'm going to have so much fun knowing what will happen when they do eventually find out what you've done for me.

"Yes. I say that in the past tense. I know you're going to do what I want because you're a little child and you're scared of what the Pied Piper is going to do to you if you don't do what he wants. Oh my, that's a bit of an odd sentence. What would Sherlock call that? Theory of Knowledge? Whatever it is, it's a bit ridiculous. How do we know that we know? Blah, blah, blah, I couldn't even care for bull_**shit**_ philosophy like that. Although surprisingly enough that reason and emotion thing you two have going is kind of cute and I would so totally ship that if I didn't want one of you dead just so I could win.

"Oh? You didn't realise that's how I would win the game? If one of you _died._ Yes... if one of you is dead, then the other loses and then that means I. Win. And I'm going to make sure that _you_ lose, because if Sherlock loses... well... then that means I'll lose. And I can't lose. It's just not in my nature to lose. It's not in the _plan._ You are part of that plan, Jenkins, and you are not going to fail me. You're going to do everything as I say. You will not deviate from the plan I have, otherwise you're going to end up in a ditch wearing a red necklace. It's not going to be pretty, and it's certainly not going to be a fairy tale death for you. So _do_ me a favour – do _yourself_ a favour – and just listen to me. Listen to what I want you to do. And that is all I'm going to day on the matter."

Silence once more. Katrina's hands were still clamped over her ears even though it had been something of great futility. And now she slowly looked up at Moriarty, her hands relaxing ever so slightly, but not moving an inch. She gave him a look of fear; a look of hatred.

"What's the matter?" He cocked his head to the side as he looked down at her. "Did I get a permanent reservation inside your head?" he asked her in a taunting manor.

"What do you want me to do?" Was all she asked him.

A shark's grin sat upon his face.

* * *

><p>The instructions were clearer than daylight. And she'd had a <em>lot<em> of instructions in the past two days. The first one being "go take a shower." The last one being "when I'm cleared of all charges, come with Seb and meet me outside the court. Don't try anything."

Now all Katrina could do was just simply wait until he appeared on the camera footage, so that she could begin his reign of tyranny over her life and Sherlock's. Moran was standing behind her as she sat at the desk in the surprisingly comfortable flat. Her nerves were getting to the point of fried as she waited in anticipation for Moriarty to make an appeared in front of the Crown Jewels.

She jumped when a hand was placed on her shoulder. She looked up fearfully at Moran, who looked as worried as she felt.

"Calm down. You'll be fine. You're good at this, yeah?"

"And that's what makes this even worse," she replied back shakily, shrugging out of Moran's grip. He then stepped back out of courtesy to Katrina's hinting of a want of personal space.

As soon as she glanced back at the laptop, Moriarty made his way onto the screen. Watching, she noticed how slowly he was walking, and she got up another window in order to make herself ready – and still, she couldn't believe she was doing this. But he had made that _permanent reservation_ inside her head, after all.

He stopped in front of the Crown Jewels, and she now took the time to mentally prepare herself for about the seventh time now. Then he made a point of looking at his phone and tapping a button on the screen, and the next thing she knew, _The Thieving Magpie_ – the abridged version from _A Clockwork Orange_ was playing throughout the room. Katrina groaned, wishing that was the _one thing_ she hadn't agreed to. But then again, it made the timing even more perfect. At least, in Moriarty's eyes anyway.

After however many seconds it was into the music, Katrina began typing away and then everyone was leaving the room of the Crown Jewels, all apart from Moriarty. Security had been alerted, and shit was about to go down. And it would all be her fault.

Next window: the Bank of England.

_What the actual hell was Moriarty doing now?_

Katrina glanced back at Moran, who was staring in confusion at the laptop screen, watching his boss doing a somewhat impromptu dance around the Crown Jewels.

But finally... Pentonville Prison.

And that was it. She was done with her first task.

Then something caught her eye with what Moriarty was doing – he had stuck something to the glass case of the Crown Jewels and then he took out a little box, removing something _very_ small from it. He held it up to the camera, and Katrina paled upon seeing what it was.

A diamond.

He placed it on the sticky thing – gum, maybe? Then she noticed the words that had been written on the case, presumably when she had turned her back for a moment.

**GET SHERLOCK.**

_Crap..._ she thought.

Then he went off camera and came back a few moments later with a fire extinguished and hit the diamond in the glass with perfect precision and it –

_**Shattered.**_

_No... no..._

Katrina began to count down from forty five in her head. She was going to attempt to do something, and that something was very, _very_ stupid. It was lucky that within about two days, she had learnt where all her old belongings had been kept. In fact, Moran hadn't been very stealthy in hiding them. It was like he had deliberately hidden them in the worst place possible, so that Katrina would find them.

_Thirty seven... thirty six... thirty five...thirty four..._

Now she was even more nervous than she had been before. That message hadn't been addressed to her, it had been addressed to the police but it had made her _think_. She had to get to him. She had to, had to, had to! It wasn't fair... it wasn't fair that she and him leave things on a bad note, have an oddly comforting phone call and then not speak to each other ever again because Sherlock was going to die at the hands of Moriarty.

_Ten... nine... eight... seven... six..._

And it was almost time to do that Very Stupid Thing.

_Five..._

Breathe.

_Four..._

Don't panic.

_Three..._

Oh god.

_Two..._

This wasn't going to work.

_One..._

Or was it?

_Go._

Katrina's hands suddenly went under the table and she flipped it onto its side and then she vaulted over it. At full speed, she ran towards Moran's room in the flat and slammed the door shut behind her, locking it with the shitty slide lock that was there. Knowing that he would be able to break down the door, she slid to the floor and grabbed her red coat from under the bed, where her phone was still residing – and upon turning it on, had about six-percent battery left.

She found the number and called it.

He answered almost immediately.

"_Katrina!"_

Moran was shoving all his weight against the door in order to get it open.

"Sherlock– Sherlock, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!" Katrina erupted into sobs.

"_What is it? Katrina, tell me!"_

"Sherlock– he– he threat– threatened me!"

The door was successfully smashed down.

"Give it to me!" Moran near enough jumped on her and pinned her down, trying to get the phone out of her grip. She let out a loud yelp, and Sherlock _knew_ what was going on.

"_GET OFF OF HER!"_

"SHERLOCK HE'S COMING FOR YOU!" she screamed as Moran prised the phone off of her and held it out of arms reach. There was only one word that the both of them heard before Moran disconnected the line.

"_KATRINA!"_

* * *

><p><strong>This <span>wasn't<span> meant to be about Moriarty trying to grab Sherlock's attention, hence why I kept that part shorter. It was more about his monologue, something of which I am very proud of.**

**Comment would be very much appreciated!**

**-OL**


	29. Only Human

"You need to come down from there."

"No."

"Nothing's going to happen if you do."

"I don't care."

"It's only me and you here. I'm not going to get mad just because you came and sat up on the roof."

"Then why should I come down?"

"I don't want you to fall."

Sebastian Moran came and placed his hand on Katrina's shoulder, to which she flinched away from him, almost losing her balance on the ledge she was sitting on, her legs dangling over the edge of it. Sighing, the assassin sat down next to her, and she shuffled away from him so that there was a substantial gap between the two of them. He sighed again.

"I'm not Jim Moriarty."

"I know you're not. Doesn't mean I have to like you. You still work for him. Morals or not, you _still_ work for him. And do you want to know what I still don't get? How your so-called 'civility' has now become _so civil_ that you're just being _nice_ to me. That's not good." Katrina gave him a pained look. "That's like you're _trying_ to give me Stockholm Syndrome!"

"I'm _not_.I'm just concerned about what _he's_ going to do to you," Moran countered. He gave a look that could be considered pleading, desperate. He wanted her to see his side of things, and it was hard for him to _make_ her see it. "I'm supposed to kill people who had wronged him. People who are _worse_ than him, but you are just _innocent._ I don't like what he's been doing to you and if I could get your out of here without the pair of us being shot down in the process, then I would."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?"

"Because I've been consistent. Now come back inside. I don't want you falling..." Moran looked down from where they were sitting on the rooftop to the street below. They were about ten stories up and if one of them were to fall, they would surely die. Not only by smacking onto the road, but also Moriarty would probably mentally kill them while they were in their graves. Then carefully, he stood up on the ledge once more and began to make his way back inside, Katrina following him after a few moments hesitation.

She went after him at a slow pace, still not entirely sure what the entire game plan was with Moran. She couldn't trust him, no, but she had to have some degree of... _something_ for him. It really did seem like he was doing all of these things for Moriarty very begrudgingly, and it made her think that perhaps she was more safe when it was just her and Moran in the slightly dingy London flat. Over the past week, he had made sure she was fed and would sit with her when she woke up at three in the morning pining for the comfort of Baker Street. He wouldn't say anything. He would just sit with her in the dark until she fell back asleep again. Nothing more, nothing less. It was a strange relationship to have with someone who was meant to be your captor, but it was a welcome one nonetheless. Borderline Stockholm Syndrome, probably, but he hadn't done anything bad to her yet. And even if he did, he wouldn't be doing it of his own accord. If Moran didn't do anything properly for Moriarty, they would both be in the doghouse.

Keeping her head bowed down as she made her way back into the flat, Katrina automatically made her way over to the windowsill in the living room, sitting down upon it. Even though she could not see over the top of London and beyond, she had retained the image of it from the roof in her mind, and tried to picture whereabouts in the city she was. Yes, Moriarty had said they were near London Bridge, but _how_ near were they? It wasn't the nicest area, and rarely any people walked upon the streets below.

Suddenly, her thoughts went back to the trial that Moriarty was currently in. It had been all over the news, and Sherlock was a prime witness. It was funny – well, not _funny_ per say – that the moment Sherlock had been declared witness in the trial, there had been a police investigation to find Katrina. Her face was plastered all over London, as far as she was aware. There was even a subsidiary article next to the one about Moriarty in the most recent paper about her. Sherlock had been interviewed for that.

And that particular paper was currently by her feet. Reaching over, she picked it up and flipped to the page, reading the article for something along the lines of the twelfth time that day.

_While the criminal network of Jim Moriarty is the prime case of the century, it had been brought to the nation's attention that someone who had been briefly involved with the workings of Moriarty has now gone missing. Katrina Jenkins, aged twenty nine, was last seen at 221 Baker Street, just two days prior to her capture, and almost two weeks before the attempted robbery of the Crown Jewels._

_A close friend of Miss Jenkins', consequently Sherlock Holmes, had little to say on the matter itself, but his words were still quite powerful. "She never meant to get involved. All she did was help to pay rent, and was my friend. Jim Moriarty has pulled her to the centre of his web and doesn't intend on letting her go until he sees my own downfall. It doesn't mean that I'm not going to try and find her. Nobody deserves the sticky hands of the spider on their body, nor its charming breath down their back." Shortly after, he and his colleague, confirmed bachelor John Watson returned to their Baker Street residence._

She sighed, throwing down to the floor. He was trying, but he wasn't trying hard enough, in her eyes. She could always run – Katrina knew that – but then she wasn't stupid. If she ran, Moriarty would catch up to her. She would just have to wait until the trial was over. There was something else she had to do as well, and she did not want to do it. It was too cruel of him to use her like this – use her for her intelligence, so to speak.

Katrina looked down at her hands. Little scars would still remain there for quite some time, because of those rats. Every time she saw her hands, the scuttling would come back. Even in her sleep it would haunt her, but she never told Moran about that whenever he sat with her. She felt weak enough without having to add that into the equation.

She wondered what it would have been like to fall off the roof.

* * *

><p>Lying in bed at an appropriate time of night was nothing short of odd for Sherlock. He wondered why he had gone to bed shortly after John had disappeared upstairs after about ten thirty, but then he slowly began to realise that the trial was getting to him. It was being called the 'trial of the century,' all because <em>he<em> was the key witness to the doings of a criminal mastermind. However, the judge didn't like him – but what was new there? Hardly _his_ fault that the man wasn't doing his job properly, along with the lawyers and the rest of them.

Alone in the dark, Sherlock got out of bed and pulled on his red dressing gown. He went to pull open the curtains and the window, and then promptly began to climb out. The fire escape ladder only went up to the window of John's room, and from there, Sherlock utilised the window sill and the ledge in order to get himself up onto the roof.

When there, he moved from the ledge and sat down cross-legged in the centre of it, thinking about the events of the past few weeks. As everyone always said, he had been an utter prat. He'd been awful to John, to Katrina – and look where she was now – as well as letting the press get too close to him. The trial was coming to an end, and the jury would make their decision soon, but all that was really on his mind was the fact he couldn't find any trace of Katrina. Not anymore. And it was _his_ fault, wasn't it?

What would be going through her clever mind right now? Would she be asleep like he was? Or was she awake out of fear? Sherlock didn't know. And going by the game that Moriarty was playing... he wouldn't ever find out, either. It was a fool's hope to win against Moriarty, but that wouldn't stop Sherlock from trying.

He sighed and closed his eyes, his head bowed slightly as he rubbed his temples.

"_Night Shezza..."_

The reason why those particular words of hers came to him was unknown, but it gave him a sort of comfort, knowing that he still had memories of her while she was gone. It may be getting to summer time, but the night air was too cool – cool enough to give him a chill – and those words offered comfort. Comfort enough to make him forget he was allowing himself to be sentimental. Sentimentality was a dangerous thing, but Sherlock had his moments of weakness.

"_Emotions make people more human than they are. For instance, if you bottle up something for a long time, it would make you feel like you were going crazy, but the minute you tell someone about it, you end up pouring your heart out to them, sobbing and then when you're done you feel better. You feel _happier._ You no longer have the weight of the world on your shoulders."_

Damn him – damn him to hell for having such an accurate memory. Damn the method of loci. Damn it all.

He pulled the dressing gown tighter around himself. He can't let it get to him like the trial was. Besides, the trial was ending soon, and Sherlock knew that there was enough evidence against Moriarty for the jury to convict him.

Then they could get back Katrina.

* * *

><p>"Remind me why I have to do this?"<p>

"He told me to hit you until you did." The air of nonchalance in Moran's voice worried Katrina, but there was some slight resignation about it too. "How many have you done?"

"I've done six. So halfway there."

"Good..."

"Not really."

"I know you want him to go to jail, but this is going to keep us both alive. Especially you. I've not said it explicitly, but I don't want to see you dead."

Katrina was silent for a moment.

"Me neither."

* * *

><p>Waiting in the car outside the courthouse, Katrina's eyes were fixated on the window. As soon as she caught sight of the two people she wanted to see – particularly the taller one – her hand instantly to the glass, splayed, almost as if she were able to reach out for them. And soon they were consumed by the crowd of reporters, not to be seen again.<p>

Dejected, she reclined back in her seat, her hand drawing into her lap.

Sebastian looked at her in the reflection of the rear view mirror with pity, but she didn't see it. She was too busy still looking out of the window – freedom so close, and yet so far.

Eventually, she had to move to the other seat in the back of the car, as the reporters were now crowding round Jim Moriarty as he made to enter the car, protected by police officials. As soon as he was sitting comfortable, off Sebastian went.

"You any good with story telling, Jenkins?" Moriarty asked her.

"No."

"Don't lie, sweetheart."

"Sherlock told me I was useless at it."

"Well I'm going to give you a chance to improve. Everything you do wrong, however, will result in something much worse. I only want perfection, and I need you to give it to me."

"_Once upon a time, there was a man. He wasn't a prince, he wasn't a king, but he acted like he was royalty anyway. He was arrogant, selfish, and he had a tendency to annoy everyone else in the world. One might say his heart was frozen. One day, he met a woman. Not just any woman. A princess. Perhaps she was a queen. She was the opposite of that man. She was clever, beautiful and someone who might have the potential to help him be rid of his arrogance. But above all, she was able to tolerate him enough to be his friend. She never knew that he thought she was brilliant, brave, kid and so much more than just being clever and beautiful. She didn't know that she was beginning to melt that ice. He didn't know if she ever would..."_

Story telling. That was all it was in the end, wasn't it? And she was stuck inside a rather Grimm one.

* * *

><p><strong>We're getting closer to the actual fall now... welp. I hoped you liked the little italic interludes as well!<strong>

**-OL**


	30. Who Is She?

Things seemed to be going fine for a few days. It had been quiet. Moriarty hadn't requested anything from Katrina for the time being, although she knew it was pending. Then things suddenly became _really_ quiet when Moriarty disappeared for the day. Katrina asked Moran if he knew what was going on, and he gave her the potential lie of 'no.' Although she later found out that Moran had known nothing.

Moriarty had come back around ten at night, absolutely fuming. Katrina nor Moran had been asleep anyway, so it was lucky that they hadn't been rudely awaken. Unfortunately for them, that was the only luck they had for the rest of that night – especially in Katrina's case.

Moriarty had come storming in, with the intention of going straight to Katrina, only Moran got in the way.

"What's going on?" he asked his employer, trying to block the door to the living room.

"That, Sebastian, would be none of your business," the consulting criminal spat in response. "This is between me and _her._"

"What has she done?" Moran raised an eyebrow.

"Gotten involved with the wrong people, _that's_ what Miss Jenkins has gone and done. Now _move._"

After a heavy sigh, Moran obeyed and stepped out of Moriarty's way so that he could barge into the living room and over to Katrina, who was standing there completely frozen in shock. He stopped about a few metres away from her, and a tense silence hung in the air while he tried his best to look and remain calm. Katrina willed herself to start backing away, but she knew she would only end up in a corner.

"I hope you started on the job I asked you to do today," he said casually.

"I finished it."

"Even better." Moriarty gave her a shark's grin. "Things can get moving more swiftly then..." He flexed the fingers in his right hand so subtly, that Katrina almost missed it. "Now I'm going to need you to tell me something, and I want you to answer me _completely honestly,_ otherwise I'm going to do something I'll come to regret."

Katrina swallowed. Loudly. He chuckled.

"Who is Alexandra Myers?"

In that moment, Katrina's eyes widened and Moriarty knew all he had to do was to await an answer from her, or become even more angry than he already was. Her mouth went completely dry and her voice stuck in her throat.

So _that_ was where he had been all day... he'd been talking with _her._ Or maybe not talking – there was no way he could be so angry with just a simple chat. No, clearly he had left in the morning with the intention of doing something else, but then coming back that irate... he'd been detained. Katrina risked a glance at his face – a proper glance – and tried to observe.

She tried to think like Sherlock, in trying to observe, but in the short amount of time she had, it was difficult.

So Katrina really tried her hardest. She was too scared, and the logical side of her brain – the side of her brain that could programme lines of computer code and eventually help Sherlock solve crimes felt like it was shutting down. But while that was happening, she caught the faintest mark of a bruise above his eye. Detained, indeed.

"Answer me." Moriarty's voice snapped her back to reality. "Who is Alexandra Myers?"

"Philosophy maniac," she answered in a shaky voice. "That's all I know, I _swear._"

"You sure about that?"

"Yes!"

She didn't want to tell him the full story of her date with Sherlock and how Myers had had him poisoned. That was just an experiment, she presumed, but the fact of the matter was, Katrina only knew Myers properly as a philosophy maniac. That was the truth – or at least, a large majority of it.

Moriarty flexed his fingers again.

"Sebastian... go and fill up the bathtub," he said over his shoulder. Katrina's gaze flickered to Moran uncomfortably leaving them alone in the room. Then the sound of running water could be heard from the bathroom. Moriarty took a few steps closer to Katrina. "I think you're lying..."

"I'm not."

"Oh, but you are."

"How would you know?" She folded her arms, now trying to stand her ground despite wanting to jump out of the window that was behind her.

"Consulting detective, consulting criminal – it's all the same, isn't it?" Moriarty shrugged. "Except I make the crimes and Sherlock dear solves them, doesn't he? That's the only difference."

"I'm pretty sure there's _more_ than that," Katrina countered. Moriarty just shook his head and closed the distance between them.

"Maybe. Maybe not," he whispered, before punching Katrina so hard in the middle of the face she staggered backwards. Not even containing his anger anymore, he grabbed her by the hair and started dragging her out of the living room and down towards the bathroom, where Moran had stopped running the water into the bathtub.

"What the–"

"Get out." Moriarty cut across Moran, and the assassin did as was demanded, closing the door behind him.

Moriarty pushed Katrina to her knees, still holding onto her hair as she desperately tried to release herself from his grip but to no avail. He had a tight hold of it. Tears in her eyes, she looked back up at him.

"I swear, I'm telling the truth–"

"You're not. You're lying to me and you're lying to yourself, so just save your breath." He rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "I want you to tell me _why_ Miss Myers approached me and had some of her men attack me and then drag me off to some place where I had to do as she asked or I would meet the same fate that Sherlock almost did. What. Happened?" His teeth were gritted and his expression now entirely taut as he waited for a proper answer from Katrina, who was still without a doubt going to refuse him. "Hmm." He let go of her hair and drifted backwards towards the door, leaving her bent over the bathtub.

"Come back inside, Sebastian," he called out, fire in his eyes. "I'd rather not get my hands dirty."

As soon as the door open and shut again, Katrina listened to some quick, hushed instructions before her head was shoved into the bathtub. The very filled up bathtub. She thrashed out and kicked at Moran but he managed to keep her pinned down with the rest of his body so that she was unable to move entirely.

Eventually, she breathed out everything she had, and began to feel a straining on her chest as she lacked oxygen in her body. At one stage – she didn't know when because it was all going by so quickly – Katrina just let the water fill her lungs and she blacked out.

She woke up coughing, lying partially drenched on the bathroom floor but now able to breathe again, the process was repeated until she begged for mercy. It only took two more tries.

* * *

><p>The next few days were sore. Her chest and throat were aching from the three times she'd had to cough up water. But after that Moriarty left her alone and would continue to leave her alone providing that everything fell into place.<p>

Due to her invaluable skills of being able to hack computers and actually come up with a good enough story for Moriarty, Katrina felt a little safer, knowing that he was happier. However, it didn't stop her from hating herself. She was doing all of this for him, simply because she wanted to _live_, and all the while it was tearing down Sherlock bit by bit. Katrina only hoped that one day he might forgive her for it. The key word being 'might.' She still hadn't forgotten his lack of emotional capacity, although he did have his rare moments.

"How much longer do I have to put up with this?" Katrina asked Moran in a murmur one night.

"It's going to happen tomorrow."

"What is?"

Moran looked at her with pity in his eyes.

"I don't think you'll want to know."

Katrina nodded, pulling her blanket tighter around herself.

"I would ask if you were okay, but that's stupid," Moran then said. "Look, I'm... I'm sorry about the other night. I didn't want to. But I had to."

"I know... I'm not blaming you. Well, maybe a bit. You've had so many opportunities to kill me yourself and–"

"No." He shook his head. "Just – _no._ I couldn't do that. Not without a good reason."

"Would me telling you I wanted to die be reason enough?"

She said it with such a mechanical tone that Moran was shocked. Katrina had never struck him as the sort of person to be suicidal. She was a fighter, and had certainly proved that within the past month or two. The fact she wanted to give up now honestly did strike something into Moran.

"No. I wouldn't be able to pull the trigger," he said after swallowing a little too loudly.

"Maybe I should take your gun and pull it on myself," she said after a moment.

"But what about Sherlock?" he suddenly went. Katrina bit down on her bottom lip. "What would he do if you died?" No answer. "Okay, let me try it differently: the one thing that would really hurt Sherlock – like, really, properly crush him – is if you died."

"How would you know?" she whispered, staring down at her feet. "How would you know?"

"Yesterday. You know when I had to go take Jim somewhere and we didn't come back for hours? I, um... well, while he was... _busy_ and didn't need me, I took a detour."

"Don't tell me you saw him," she replied, now with tears in her eyes.

"I saw him." Moran fished out a crumpled bit of paper from the back pocket of his jeans and smoothed it out before handing it to Katrina. She took it with a shaky hand.

_Don't give up without a fight._

_You'll be seeing me very soon, I expect._

–_SH_

"Just live for him. If you don't want to live for yourself, live for _Sherlock._" Silence. "Anyway. Get some sleep."

He left her room without another room, and Katrina clutched the note to her heart as if it were her lifeline. And it was.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, not my best chapter I know, but I needed to get something out before I ended up on a two year hiatus again.<strong>

**Let me know what you think regardless?**

**The next chapter is the fall.**

**-OL**


	31. Long Way Down

**There may be potential murderers after this chapter. All coming after me. Don't forget to comment after reading!**

* * *

><p>After openly admitting it to Moran, all Katrina did during the night was dream of death. It had all seemed to have crashed down on her. The fact that she had been held in captivity for so long, made to 'face her fears' and made to do things she didn't want to do was enough to cause her some form of psychological damage. She didn't want to live with those memories.<p>

So when she shut her eyes, her mind would wander and come up with creative ways in which she could die. Sherlock or not, Katrina couldn't be swayed from it that easily, and had wished that Moran really had handed her the gun. She was terrified and she hated feeling like that. She hated feeling weak and unable to do anything about it. She had no idea how long it would last if she lived, and thus death seemed like a friendly option to her. Be rid of the thoughts and memories inside her own head. That was a peaceful thought.

Katrina wasn't paying attention to anything at all. She merely stared blankly at her lap in the car as they made their way to... well, apparently St. Bart's Hospital. They went in a back way and Moran left her with Moriarty, something of which she did not like the idea of at all. Particularly the part where she had her hands tied in front of her.

"You're awfully quiet today," he remarked as they made their way up the four flights of stairs. "What's the matter? _Cat_ got your tongue?"

"You couldn't come up with a better pun than that?" she retorted dryly, yet still somehow in a bored manner.

"It's still a _great_ pun."

"Sure," she shrugged. Moriarty sighed.

"Your lack of sass disappoints me."

"_So_ sorry about that," she answered sarcastically. "I'm just not _feeling_ it today."

"You're gonna end up feeling it soon, that's for sure." Moriarty looked back at her and grinned. "Keep up now, darling, we're almost there."

"Great..." Katrina mumbled, quickening her pace as they reached the final flight of stairs, and up they went onto the roof. While Moriarty appeared to be quite satisfied with their destination, Katrina stopped in the doorway and looked around her in confusion. "Why are we up here?"

"Did you think the _fall_ was going to be metaphorical?" Moriarty chuckled. "Oh dear... Come on out now, Jenkins. There's going to be quite the show for you today."

She took a few precarious steps into the warm air, not exactly wanting to be close to Moriarty at all. He sighed and came back towards her, taking her by the arm and dragging her away from the door before going to slam it shut.

"You're so _boring_ today."

"Again, I'm _terribly_ sorry."

"Hmm. At least the sass is coming out now..." he sighed. "You've been aware of what's going on, yes?"

"Vaguely."

"Tell me and I'll tell you if you're right."

"You made me make up a fake identity for you – Richard Brook – so that you could make Sherlock seem like a fraud. There was that case with the kids, wasn't there? You got someone who looked like Sherlock to kidnap the kids so the police would have reason enough to be after him and make them believe _Richard Brook,_" she explained slowly, still not quite coming to terms with the part she had to play in all of this.

"Aren't you a clever girl?"

"If I weren't so clever you wouldn't have got me to hack the prison, the tower of London and the bank..." She sank down onto her knees. "Jesus Christ, it's my fault. You – you _made_ me do this, but it's still _my fault! _It's my fault Sherlock's going – you're going to kill him, aren't you?" There were tears in her eyes and that only seemed to make Moriarty all the more happy. He crouched down next to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Just what I wanted. _You_ to believe that all of this is _your fault – _for getting involved with him, getting _close_ to him, _loving_ him... it just made this all the more easier for me. Love is a _very_ dangerous disadvantage, Jenkins. You should know that by now."

"Love makes people human and considering the fact that you – you are _so_ far from it really says a lot..." She shot him a dirty look and shrugged out of his grip. "Besides. When you love someone, you'd quite happily die for them."

"You'd die for Sherlock?"

"I didn't say I'd die for Sherlock but now that we're on the subject, wouldn't dying be so wonderful?"

"If you did that, you'd ruin the plan."

"You mentioned a while ago that the fall would be the only way that _I_ could lose. If I died, then that way I would lose."

Moriarty stood, beginning to pace back and forth as he shook his head.

"No – that would mean you would _win._ Then I would lose because I wouldn't get to see him do one final thing for you... he would just do it without you in the equation."

It suddenly clicked in Katrina's mind.

"You're going to make him jump."

"And it's a _long way down,_ Jenkins."

She got to her feet again, coming right in front of Moriarty so that he was no longer able to pace.

"Then let me win. Kill me. I'm ready to die because I am _done_ with your shit," she told him through gritted teeth. A tear rolled down her cheek as she said those words. He did not look impressed with her idea.

"Are you so sure you're ready to die?"

"Yes."

"Are you _that_ desperate?" At this point, Moriarty got out his phone and typed out something before putting it away.

"Yes. I don't want to live with nightmares for god knows how long."

"I'm not usually one to partake in things like this, but because you're such a _special_ case–" His hands were around her throat within a second and he had pinned her down to the ground within three second. With her own hands tied, Katrina could hardly try and move him off of her. Suddenly, she was terrified of death. And she didn't want to die at the hands of Moriarty – it was all so confusing to her.

As more salty tears rolled down her cheeks and her eyes began bulge out a little bit, Katrina started kicking at Moriarty, her vision becoming more and more hazy with each ticking second. Eventually, he let go of her and she was left spluttering and coughing. She rolled onto her side as Moriarty walked away, stars flashing in front of her.

She vaguely heard somebody shout her name before she passed out.

* * *

><p>A gun shot rang out the moment she opened her eyes.<p>

Her hands were untied and her vision cleared just in time to see Moriarty fall to the floor, dead about five metres away from where she was lying.

Screaming, Katrina scrabbled to her feet in order to avoid the pool of blood that was spreading from his head.

"Holy – holy crap... oh my god..." She was about to start crying again, but the _relief_ that flooded her... it was indescribable.

"Kat."

She tore her gaze away from the body with the manic grin, and her eyes fell on Sherlock. It took a few moments to register that it was him, but a small smile broke out on her face and she ran up to him and threw her arms around his shoulders.

That was short lived because he pushed away from her, only to cup her face with his hands.

"Do you remember how to be brave, Kat? You're a brave girl, come on now."

"Sherlock..."

"Kat, _please,_ do you remember how to be brave?"

She racked her brains for an answer to the obscure question he had just presented to her. Did she even know what bravery was after an ordeal like this? And what was about to come? She could be brave, yes, but she feared it was only going to be a veil for others to see, so that they couldn't see what was happening underneath.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry..."

"Be brave, Kat."

"It was my fault."

"He _made_ you do it."

Despite the fact that Sherlock just _knew_ it wasn't her, Katrina thought that she saw the slightest flicker of betrayal in his eyes. He knew that she hadn't wanted to do it, but she'd still done it out of the selfish reasons of not wanting to be subjected to any torture. But that was a good enough reason, wasn't it?

"Moran gave me your note."

"I trusted that he would." Sherlock's hands dropped from her face and he ruffled his hair. "Katrina – be brave."

"You keep saying that but I don't know _how_." She would not cry again. She would not cry in front of Sherlock. Not now.

"Yes you do. I cannot imagine what you have endured these past months, but look at you. You're still alive."

"I don't want to be. Well – I do. But I don't. I don't know anymore!" She shrugged, feeling at a complete loss.

"Do you know what's going to happen?"

"Yes. But I wasn't – I didn't think _he'd_ die. Did you...?"

"No. He shot himself. I wasn't expecting it either, but now... that just seals the deal on what I have to do."

"That means I lose."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards for a second.

"I guess it does." He held out his hand. "Good game, Miss Katrina Ann Jenkins."

Looking at his hand sadly, Katrina eventually took it and shook it, before letting go after a few seconds.

"You and John keep each other safe. Between you and I... let him keep believing I'm a fraud. He was even beginning to doubt me. Don't reassure him. Don't let him know that it was _you_ that had to do all the paperwork for that – by the way, your story telling has improved _vastly._"

"Not the time for compliments, Sherlock," she replied in an exasperated manor.

"You like them, though." He stood a little taller as he clasped his hands behind his back. "I believe you would call yourself a 'vain bitch.'"

There was no reaction out of Katrina for that remark – no matter how true it may have been.

"Smile. One last time, before I off myself."

"How can you be so casual and calm about this?!"

"Because it was inevitable," Sherlock sighed.

"Right..." Katrina's lips came into a thin line as she nodded.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a phone call to make."

"To who?"

"To John."

After those words, Sherlock made his way over to the rooftop edge. Katrina decided to keep her distance, not wanting to eavesdrop on his last conversation with his best friend. Knowing that Sherlock couldn't see her or hear her now, she let out every ounce of emotion through her tears. This was really happening. Sherlock was going to jump off of that rooftop and she was going to watch.

She couldn't look away. She couldn't let him die on his own. She desperately wanted there to be another way to this, but... clearly there wasn't. As soon as he discarded the phone and stretched out his arms, Katrina called out to him.

"He said it was a long way down."

_Walking on the rooftops,  
><em>_Talking of times  
><em>_With our eyes a glowing,  
><em>_Like the city lights,  
><em>_She stands on the ledge, she says  
><em>_'It looks so high...'_

"That's because it is," he looked back over his shoulder as he shouted back his reply.

_You know it's a long way down,  
><em>_Feels like a long way,  
><em>_It feels like a long way down,  
><em>_Yeah, like a long way down...  
><em>_So honey don't leave, don't leave,  
><em>_Please don't leave me now._

"Sherlock, he said you'd do this for _me._ Why?"

_'Cos I can feel the rivers,  
><em>_Winding through the lands,  
><em>_Two lines and a poet,  
><em>_Like a kind old rye,  
><em>_You know we could talk in that language,  
><em>_Only we understand..._

"Sherlock, _**why**_?!"

_You know, honey, it's a long way down,  
><em>_You know that it's a long way down,  
><em>_It feels like a long way down,  
><em>_Oh, it feels like a long way down,  
><em>_Oh honey don't leave, don't leave,  
><em>_Please don't leave me now..._

"I've owed you a favour for a while."

Then he was gone.

And Katrina had lost.


	32. The Aftermath

She was still staring at the spot that Sherlock had jumped from.

It hadn't quite computed in her head yet that he wasn't still standing there.

Managing to tear away her gaze from the roof ledge, it fell upon the dead body of Jim Moriarty.

That was Katrina ran to the stairwell and all the way down it, not stopping to catch her breath and not stopping to think. Today she had seen two people die, and one of them she had essentially helped kill the other. That was not okay. The man she loved was dead and gone, and she had aided in his death, simply because she didn't want to die. So did she really love him? Yes and no.

She burst out the door at the bottom of the stairwell and out onto the side street, finally stopping and breathing heavily. She had run so fast that her legs were shaking, and as she walked out to the front of the building she was stumbling and wobbling everywhere she went.

Just as she came out, a group of people ran past her wheeling a body on a gurney. Katrina watched them go round the corner and it took her a few moments to realise that it was _Sherlock's body_ they had just come past with. She looked over to the direction they had come from, and she saw John more or less half collapsed on the ground, with people trying to help him up.

_John._

She slowly made her way over to him and the rest of them, tears now streaming down her face as she saw somebody so close to her and so familiar in her life.

"J–John!" she called out to him, and he looked up, staring straight at her and not registering what was happening. Then he finally recognised her, and, with a bit of help, managed to stand up.

"Oh my god – oh my – Katrina..." he ran over to her and threw his arms around her, and they both fell to the ground with the woman becoming a sobbing mess.

She had never held onto a person so tightly – for whichever reason it was, Katrina didn't know. The shock of Sherlock jumping from the roof, or the fact she was now free, it didn't matter. She still had a friend left in the world, and it was John Watson. She had never been so glad to see his face, or physically hold him in her arms.

"I'm sorry..." she murmured into his shoulder. "I'm so – I'm sorry."

"You have _nothing_ to be sorry for." His arms seemed to lock around her – gripping her so tightly and not wanting to let go. They needed each other right now, and would need each other for quite some time after that.

"I do, I do, I do..."

John pulled back from Katrina so that he could look at her. Their noses were less than a centimetre from each other and she wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Katrina... what – what happened?" he asked her gently.

"We need to call the police," was all she said.

There was really no need to do that, considering the fact that somebody had probably done so as soon as Sherlock had landed on the ground. Katrina pulled John back to her and she glanced over his shoulder at the spot where _he_ had landed. There was a large blood stain. People were moving away now and coming over to see if they were okay.

Why would they be okay?

They had just seen their friend kill himself.

Would they _ever_ be okay?

Katrina hid her face in John's shoulder again, if anything feeling more broken than he could ever feel. Or perhaps they were broken in different ways. John was a solider and he was made of steel. How hard was it to break steel? Very. It was easier to put it back together, however, because if somebody broke steel, it would come away in larger pieces, and it was simply a jigsaw puzzle when repairing it.

John was steel.

On the other hand, Katrina was glass.

Perhaps before her ordeal with Moriarty, she could have been made of something stronger. Maybe she had been thicker glass, but then she had been worn away at the edges and made to feel weak. Now she was just shattered fragments, the larger parts able to be put back together easily. But what about the smaller, more random parts? The parts that, without them, would leave gaps? They were not so easily found, and would be swept away and lost forever.

"What – what do we do, John?" She tried to stop her tears now, but that didn't stop her from feeling emotionally wrecked by everything.

"We – we have to try and carry on," he replied, squeezing her a little. "We _have_ to."

"I don't think I can."

"Neither can I."

At that moment, the sound of police sirens could be heard. Several of them. Then another loud, familiar voice could be heard, gradually coming closer. Katrina pulled away from John to see it was Lestrade, and she immediately stood up in order to throw her arms around him instead. She may not have been that close to the man, but god damn it – it was somebody she knew and had missed.

"Jesus Christ, Katrina..." he said, before he briefly put his arms around her and then let go of her, to which she did the same. "You're – you're okay? We've been looking for you for bloody _ages._"

"I know... I know..." she nodded, almost defeated by that statement. "It's... it's a long story..."

"Do you want to come down to the station and – oh my god. Your neck." His eyes widened.

"What about her neck?" John asked from her side. Katrina immediately pulled up the collar of her red coat so that it was hidden.

"It's bruised," said Lestrade. "Katrina, what happened?"

She didn't reply, but only looked down at the ground now. Lestrade sighed.

"Come on. Both of you."

He turned and began to walk back towards one of the police cars, where Donovan was waiting too. Katrina glanced at John and took hold of his hand as they walked over there.

* * *

><p>Katrina was sat opposite Lestrade in his office. John was standing behind her as Donovan was standing behind Lestrade. They were all looking at her very intently, so Katrina kept her eyes trained on her lap. She didn't want to look up at them. She wanted to say something, but she wasn't sure where to start.<p>

"Katrina, you need to tell us what happened," Lestrade said gently. "Where you went, who was behind it, who took you... we need to know _everything._"

She nodded, but still didn't say anything. She was incredibly nervous with all those eyes on her. Three pairs of eyes didn't seem like much, but considering she'd only really been around one other person the past couple of months... it wasn't a fun experience. It was just strange.

"Can I... can I speak to Sergeant Donovan alone about this?" Katrina then asked. Everyone in the room seemed taken aback by her question.

"Er – Sally...?" Lestrade glanced back her the woman. She nodded. "Okay. John... let's go and find somewhere to talk."

"Yeah. Okay," John replied in a flat voice as Lestrade got up to go and exit the office. Katrina waited until they were both definitely gone and Donovan had sat down in the chair opposite her.

"All of this is my fault," was how Katrina started.

"How so?" Donovan asked as she opened the desk drawer and got out a pad of paper and a pen, ready to write down anything of importance.

"I was forced to break into the Tower of London, the bank, and the prison." Katrina's gaze finally met with Donovan's, who wasn't sure how to process that piece of information.

"Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm not. I'm very good with computers, you see." Katrina shrugged. "I was even asked by Mycroft Holmes if I could break into Baskerville, and then Sherlock asked me to do it for one of his cases... That was... before Sherlock actually went to Dartmoor – to Baskerville – that was the last time I saw him. Spoke to him on the phone a couple of times, and the second time it didn't exactly end well..."

"What did he say?"

"It doesn't matter what he said. He was just being... he was being himself, as per usual. Although he didn't mean to upset me," Katrina sighed. "That was when Moriarty and his right hand man Sebastian Moran came to Baker Street. There was a gun pressed to the back of my head for the most part, so I went with them quietly."

"To Battersea?" Donovan prompted as she scribbled something down.

"Yeah. Uh... stuff happened there. Rats. Lots and lots of rats." Katrina pushed up the sleeves of her coat and shirt to show Donovan the little bite mark-shaped scars. "I'm still not sure why I was put into a room of rats, but I was."

"Okay... you said Moriarty did this?"

Katrina nodded.

"Moriarty wasn't real though. Sherlock paid him – it was just an actor. Richard Brook."

Katrina let out a very empty laugh.

"I told you I was good with computers. There's something else I was made to do."

"What do you mean?" Donovan frowned.

"I was given a random name of Richard Brook, and from there I had to make up a story. I didn't want to get hurt, so I did exactly as Moriarty said and then – well... one night I – I was taken to the bathroom. He was mad. Really mad." Tears crept back into Katrina's eyes. "Kept asking me about Alexandra Myers, the woman who was behind the philosophy case, and... I didn't want to answer him, because I didn't know much, really. I was drowned three times to the point of death."

"And this was all Moriarty's doing?"

Katrina nodded slowly.

"And Sebastian Moran?"

"He didn't – he didn't hurt me. Well – he didn't _want_ to hurt me, but Moriarty made him." Katrina paused for a second. "There – there should be a body on the roof. Moriarty's body. Moran's run off, I think." _Don't stop, either._

"He just left?"

"Yeah."

She wrote down something else.

"Anything you want to add?"

Katrina shook her head.

"And you're telling the complete, _whole_ truth?" Donovan wasn't trying to make things worse for the other woman – she just needed to be sure. They'd near enough made Sherlock the most wanted man in London, and it had all been down to the woman sitting opposite her. Well, her skills in the very least. It wasn't like she had wanted Sherlock to die.

"I am." Katrina was surprised at how calm she had managed to remain, despite her extremely watery eyes. She supposed there would be time for grieving later. As of right now, she had to at least try and remain professional.

"Okay... Katrina... why did you want to only speak to me?"

"I don't know..." she admitted after some time to think to herself. "Maybe I just needed a woman to talk to."

Donovan looked at her quite sadly.

"I know you're tough. I know you're tough and you surround yourself with men because it's easier for you that way, but if you ever just want a coffee and a chat, I'm available if you want it."

"Thank you," Katrina muttered, a tiny smile on her lips. "Thank you, Sergeant Donovan."

* * *

><p><strong>Some of you were worried it was the end of this story, but do not fear! We're not done yet. I've got about 7 months of post-Reichenbach to cover before moving onto the next story. I'm not going to drag it all out too much, I'm just going to do the important bits.<strong>

**I will also be doing series 3. With my own plot twists along the way.**

**Review?**

**-OL.**


	33. Katrina's Blog: Post 2

_Safe. __25/06/11_

_I'm not going to begin to explain what's happened to me the past couple of months._

_I'm home, though. I'm finally fucking home._

_I returned home on the 12__th__ June 2011._

_Yeah. The day Sherlock Holmes fell._

_Did I mention that day was my birthday, too? No? Okay. Well. I turned 31 on that day. Fucking hip hip hooray._

_There was a funeral. Of course there was a funeral. Mycroft didn't show up. I was... surprised, to say the least. Very surprised. I knew they didn't really get on, but... the least he could have done..._

_I remember watching John say his last few words to Sherlock. I didn't hear what he said, but I just watched him stand there, and from the angle I was at I could see his lips moving. I could see him speaking to the grave. I just never heard what he said. I didn't want to disrespect John like that._

_Then it was my turn. God – I just remember standing there. All I did was stare at that beautiful marble headstone with his name engraved on it in gold. That was all I could do. There weren't any words that could express my sorrow, my guilt, my __**anger... **__All I could do was just stare at it and not say a single word. It was my fault. John said it wasn't. The police said it wasn't. But it was my fault. Everything I did, I did to save my own skin and look at what happened to Sherlock! He's dead and I'm alive and it is my fault._

_I don't think I cried at the grave. I can't remember. It all seemed a bit... fuzzy._

_I don't know how long I stood there for._

_The last thing I remember at the cemetery, was John pulling me away and telling me I needed therapy._

_I told him no._

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

COMMENTS

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

ANONYMOUS COMMENT

NAME: Isy J.

25/06/11 at 18:01

_You're okay and you didn't tell me you were?!_

–––––––––––––––

Katrina Jenkins

26/06/11 at 04:53

_Oh fuck. Off._


	34. Month One

221B Baker Street was far too quiet now.

There was no violin being played at ridiculous hours of the night or early morning.

There was no John being irritated at Sherlock for leaving an experiment in the microwave.

There was no Katrina messing with Sherlock's laptop.

There was no Mrs Hudson coming in ever day to check if they were all right, or to tell them if somebody had come with a case.

No more bets.

No more laughter.

Just... John and Katrina, with Mrs Hudson downstairs.

The only noise that would be made in that flat was Katrina waking up in the middle of the night, shouting for John because she'd had another nightmare about Jim Moriarty. That was all that happened within the first two weeks – nothing except for that.

One morning, John found Katrina sitting in Sherlock's chair, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked like she hadn't slept at all, and was staring blankly into space. She barely even noticed him sit opposite her, and then promptly come over to her. As soon as John touched her shoulder, she shook out of her stupor.

"Do you want some tea?" he asked her. Katrina merely shook her head. "Anything?" Another shake of the head. "You'll eat later, won't you?" She nodded this time. "Good."

John made his way to the kitchen so that he could make his own cup of tea, and put some bread in the toaster. He was starving.

"I think we should move out," said Katrina suddenly. John nearly dropped his spoon, not expecting her to say anything.

"What – why?"

"It... it feels so wrong, living here while he's not..." Katrina got up off the arm chair and sluggishly made her way to the kitchen. "Besides, all the experiments are still here. His violin. Laptop. Clothes – just everything."

There was a painful expression on her face that John couldn't quite figure out. As much as he really didn't want to leave Baker Street and Mrs Hudson, no less, there was a point to what Katrina was saying. If they stayed there, they would be living with a ghost and perhaps too much nostalgia to even bear.

"If we did – and I'm only saying if – where would we go?" he asked her carefully, stirring the teabag around in his mug now.

"My flat."

"I thought that Isabella was living there...?"

"Not anymore. She dropped me a line saying that she had moved out last week. She's apparently going to give me the money she owes me, because I'm still technically paying for that place."

"You have no job..." John said as he rid his mug of the teabag and went to go pour in the milk, giving the tea a quick stir before putting the spoon in the sink.

"I know, I know..." Katrina awkwardly scratched the back of her head as they went back into the living room. "I'm ashamed to say it, but I borrowed money from Sherlock. In fact he was trying to push it at me, because I'd helped out on the cases. I'm going out on a limb here, but I think he still carried on paying for my flat when I was... yeah..." she sank down onto Sherlock's arm chair once more, as John settled in his red seat.

"That's oddly... kind of him."

"It was," Katrina murmured, watching John idly sip his tea.

"We could."

"Could what?"

"Move out. Even if it's temporary. Might be able to come back here and clear out his stuff when we're ready to. Although... no. Coming back here would be a... good idea, but–"

"Clearing out Sherlock's things would be wrong. So then we'd be back where we are now – contemplating not living here because it feels wrong to live with a ghost." There was a pause. "John, why are you so rational about this? You're not as upset as I thought you would be."

"I... well, I'm trying to put on a face. You were at the hands of Moriarty for three months. You should be in therapy, Kat. You shouldn't be as calm as you are and it's – well..." he sighed. "I don't know what it is, but it's worrying me."

"You're more worried about me than your own grief?" She almost seemed touched, but the way she said it to him suggested that she was offended by the way John was acting. "I can't – I won't – let you do that."

"We all deal with grief in different ways, Katrina," he explained. "This is mine."

* * *

><p>About three days later, they both ended up saying their goodbyes to Mrs Hudson. It was quite tearful on all accounts, particularly for John, considering how he had been living there for the best of three years. The two of them leaving honestly felt awful about leaving the little old land lady on her own, but Mrs Hudson waved them off, saying that they had to do what they needed to, and if moving out of 221B was the way to do it, then they should. As long as they came back to visit her, then it was all fine.<p>

John took a cab with any of their items, while Katrina went on ahead on her motorbike. It was nice to get back on it again – she hadn't realised how much she had actually missed riding it.

The surprise came when they arrived at the block of flats near Oxford Circus was to see Isabella and Stephen waiting there for them. Damn it. Katrina had forgotten that the pair of them were in a relationship and she had been talking to Stephen on the odd occasion. She was more delighted to see him than her own sister, but the hugs from neither of them were really that appreciated.

"Seriously, what are you doing here?" Katrina asked, disgruntled.

"Am I really not allowed to see you?" Isabella frowned at her.

"No, because you fucking irritate me and I really don't fancy your life in mine right now," Katrina spat.

"Woah woah woah, what's going on?" asked John as he got out of the cab to hear Katrina's last sentence.

"Give me the key," Katrina ignored John and held out her hand to Isabella, who smacked it in there. "Now fuck off."

"Katrina–" John was going to try and reason with her, but as soon as she whipped round and glared at him, he backed down a little. "We're going to talk about this later."

"No, we're really not."

She stormed inside the block, leaving Stephen and Isabella to help John bring up all their belongings.

* * *

><p>It became clear that Katrina was putting on a brave face to hide how she was really feeling. She only put on the brave face for him. She put it on for John. She had been so upset the first two weeks, allowing John to look after her directly after the ordeal, but after living for one week in her own flat, it had become very clear that she was trying to make sure that John was all right, that John wasn't going to completely break. It had only been a month.<p>

She'd found a job again, quite quickly, and managed to throw herself into it. John figured that it was another way of hiding from him, but he'd still receive texts from her during the day. They would always ask how he was.

At dinner times, Katrina had a far away look in her eyes which seemed to fill with pain every so often, and tears threatened to fall. John felt exactly like that, and it was obvious – hence why she was always checking on him. Trying to hide everything she was feeling from him.

John wasn't sure how to comfort her. Katrina had a temper – at least, she used to – but it seemed to be coming back. Anything could happen if he asked her what was wrong. She could shout, storm off... anything. At least if he had shouted, it would be easier to get under control. Katrina took a little while to calm down.

She was still going into work when John knew for a fact that she really shouldn't be. She needed therapy. She hadn't even told him what had happened to her.

It was at the end of that third week that John had a lot of difficulty sleeping, starting to have flashbacks of Sherlock's last moments while on the phone to him.

"_John, one last thing – before I go."_

"_What? What could you possibly say now? Sherlock – this is – you can't..."_

"_Look after Katrina."_

"_I – I will. I wasn't going to let her be on her own."_

"_Promise me that."_

"_I promise."_

"_Goodbye, John."_

He couldn't let Sherlock down. Not now. A month was all it had taken for her begin hiding everything.

It was lucky that that night he was awake.

At about one o'clock in the morning, he could hear things smashing, cries of frustration and pain and he knew what was going on. Turning on his lamp, John allowed himself to get used to the light and then he slowly made his way out of his bedroom to go towards the dimly lit living room.

As he expected, Katrina was in there, throwing anything and everything that she could, screaming and crying out at the exact moment any object would hit the ground. She hadn't noticed him come in, but she had realised there was nothing to throw anymore. So Katrina, breathing heavily, sank down onto her knees in the middle of all the wreckage, her head in her hands and sobbing.

John slowly approached the crying woman and knelt beside her, gently taking her into his arms. Katrina, despite tensing up at first, eventually let him just hold her, and she grabbed hold of his arms with shaking hands. He rested his cheek on top of her head and made small hushing noises in an effort to get her to calm down.

"It's okay..." he whispered. "It's okay."

"N-no it's n-n-not," she blubbered. "I can't – I can't."

"Just cry, Katrina. Cry for me, okay? I'm going to help you up onto the sofa..." John slowly rose, bringing Katrina up from her position on the floor, before prising himself out of her grip and settling her on the sofa. He then took hold of her hands so that he was able to rub the tops of them with his palms.

They sat in silence for quite some time – until Katrina had managed to calm herself, at least.

"Kat..." John began carefully. "Talk to me. Talk to me about what happened."

She vehemently shook her head.

"I can't."

"You told Sally, but not me?"

"I just... can't."

"All right. All right," John eventually said. He wasn't going to press her about it – that wouldn't be fair on her. "Do you want to go back to bed?"

She nodded, and he then let go of her hands, about to stand up but Katrina grabbed him again. The next thing John knew was Katrina's lips suddenly on his, warm and tasting of salty tears. It was sudden and not wanted on both halves, because she pulled away and looked shocked with herself, before running off back to her room.

That was going to be an awkward conversation, among everything else they had to worry about.

* * *

><p><strong>Eek, sorry for the delay in updates, again! School is mental the moment. And I know this chapter is short, but it's something. I'm sort of working out the timeline for it atm, but we've got 6 chapters left of this story before I can FINALLY move onto the next one - yay! :D<strong>

**Anyway, comment as per usual?**

**-OL.**


	35. Months Two and Three

Breakfast the next morning was quiet enough without the awkwardness of what had happened the night before.

The two adults sat at the kitchen table silently sipping on their tea, eating cereal or eating toast, avoiding all eye contact with each other. It was a waiting game to see who would break the silence first.

"So..." John broke it first, causing Katrina to jump in her seat.

"About last night–"

They both started to babble at the same time, before John stopped talking and allowed Katrina to speak.

"Look, I'm... I'm really sorry for... well, kissing you. It wasn't – I was – I was running high on emotions, I was – I wasn't in the right frame of mind and I'm so, _so_ sorry. Your friendship means the world to me, and I don't want to ruin it–"

John held up his hand, and Katrina stopped.

"You don't need to worry about it. I'm not going to take last night in any seriousness whatsoever. You just wanted closeness." John put down his mug and reached across the table to place his hand gently over Katrina's. She smiled at the gesture, before sliding her hand out from underneath his.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said. "Then I'm going to... go find a job."

He blinked twice and nodded. She had just more or less skipped over his acceptance of what had happened last night. John wasn't sure how to react as he watched Katrina leave her half finished mug of tea on the table as she went to go and get on with her day.

John's brow furrowed, as he still finished off his own breakfast. There was a sense of detachment coming out of Katrina, and it wasn't good. She had refused point blanc to tell him what had happened to her. There was a deep concern there, for her, because she was beginning to withdraw a little.

A few years of being Sherlock's best friend had enabled John to pick up a few observation skills.

When he had finished eating, he cleared up the kitchen. Then he did the living room, which was still a bit of a mess from the night before.

* * *

><p>Life was significantly more mundane.<p>

Katrina had been more swift in getting a job than John thought she would be, and in turn, he had done the exact same thing. Albeit, a little more slowly. He was still trying to get used to the swing of things in Katrina's flat. She could be particular about the kitchen cupboards, for instance. There was certain a better level of organisation in them than the cupboards at 221B.

There was also the case of the bathroom. Never go in the bathroom between seven thirty and eight in the morning. That was _her_ bathroom time.

Strange that she had never mentioned it when at 221B.

Maybe it was because he just got up a bit later than her and never noticed.

With the pair of them both with steady jobs – John at a little doctor's practice, and Katrina as an IT technician in an office, they didn't see each other much. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Breakfast and dinner times were silent for the most part, unless either one of them had some form of gossip to share. Then Katrina would shut herself in her room and John wouldn't hear from her for the rest of the night. Perhaps it was her way of coping. Maybe moving in with John hadn't been the best idea in the first place – moving out of 221B could have been bad for the both of them on all accounts.

Either way, the routine they had slipped into was an easy one. That's all the needed right now. An easy routine. Just... a routine.

It may have been more mundane than the one they'd had before, but it was working for now.

Although one night, when John was unable to sleep for a plethora of reasons, he decided a glass of water was in order. He got out of bed and put on his robe before making his way out of his room and down the hallway towards the kitchen. Despite having not slept, he was bleary-eyed and disorientated because of how dark the hallway was – the street lamps had a bit of a tendency to flood through the window in his room. It was comforting, if not mildly irritating sometimes.

He eventually entered the kitchen and flipped on one of the lights underneath the top cupboard, illuminating just one of the counter tops enough to make John more alert and give him enough light to see the rest of the kitchen. He took a glass from one of the other cupboards and proceeded to go and fill it up with cold water from the tap.

John sipped on the cold water idly, leaning back against the counter top and staring out of the kitchen doorway into the living room, when a dull _thud_ could be heard.

Placing the glass on the counter top, John went to go investigate.

The light was limited, but it was enough to show him Katrina's form slumped on the sofa face down. She had appeared to be typing on her laptop, and her phone was on the floor. Sighing, John knelt down and picked up the phone. The screen was still on, so John could only assume that Katrina had just fallen asleep.

He didn't mean to pry – he was going to switch it off anyway – but he looked at what had been keeping her awake; it sent a sick feeling to his stomach. A wave of nostalgia.

It had barely been three months but how could he have forgotten about this person in particular?

John scrolled back through the messages.

_Are you awake?  
><em>–_KJ._

_It is one o'clock in the morning, Miss Jenkins.  
><em>–_M._

_Taking that as a yes.  
><em>_Stop calling me that.  
><em>–_KJ._

_Unfortunately I was called into work tonight.  
><em>_Fortunate for you, however.  
><em>_No I will not.  
><em>–_M._

_Fine. Be like that.  
><em>–_KJ._

_What brings you to correspond with me after almost three months?  
><em>–_M._

_I don't know what to do with myself.  
><em>–_KJ._

_You live with John Watson still.  
><em>–_M._

_And?  
><em>–_KJ._

_Surely you would find yourself busy?  
><em>–_M._

_We both have jobs.  
><em>_It's boring.  
><em>–_KJ._

_Says the woman who proclaims she is not a detective.  
><em>–_M._

_I'm not. But you had me hack Baskerville...  
><em>_Moriarty had me hack the bank...  
><em>_Can you see where I'm going with this?  
><em>–_KJ._

_I would have presumed disgust on your behalf for doing what you did for Moriarty.  
><em>–_M._

_I am disgusted.  
><em>–_KJ._

_But?  
>–M.<em>

_I miss being able to do what I'm good at.  
>It's weird &amp; confusing.<br>_–_KJ._

_I would have thought you wouldn't want to do that anymore.  
><em>_Not after what happened.  
><em>–_M._

_Yeah well... I don't know.  
><em>–_KJ._

_The job offer is still there.  
><em>–_M._

_Now now, Mycroft.  
><em>–_KJ._

_Fine then. I suggest you get some sleep.  
><em>_Think it over.  
><em>–_M._

_Okay.  
><em>–_KJ._

The conversation ended there. John frowned as he pressed the lock button on Katrina's phone and put it on the coffee table.

So Mycroft knew what had happened to her...

That wasn't much of a surprise, in all honesty. Mycroft knew everything. He knew that they were still living together. Hell, he probably even already knew about Katrina's boredom – something of which John was surprised about. She was busy with a job, trying to keep up with the life of London and get over her own grief. They were both doing that – actually, Mycroft was doing that too. Except he had the government to be worrying about on top of it.

John gently rested his hand on Katrina's back and tried to rouse her awake, but to no avail. She had been looking tired for quite some time... clearly this was the reason why.

Since he couldn't actually get her to wake up, John decided to move the laptop to the coffee table too, but not without reading it what was on it.

_Time carries on, I suppose.__14/09/11._

_It's getting cooler. Summer's over, even if it didn't feel like it was here._

_Good news is that I have a steady job. Bad news is that I have depression, so it's a good thing I work in a secluded office away from people. As if anger issues weren't enough..._

_John doesn't even know; this isn't the best way to tell him. I mean, I outright refused therapy but I have been going to _a_ doctor. It's kind of why I don't really talk to him much anymore._

_People are just too much effort to deal with. There has to be some sort of genuine motivation, right? There isn't any. Nothing. Not for anything at all._

_How do I tell John?_

The post ended there. She'd not had time to finish it before she had dropped off. The texts and post seemed to conflict with each other in what they were saying, but at the same time they sort of agreed with each other. She was bored and had no motivation, and it was fair enough to miss doing something you were good at...

After closing the lid of the laptop, John tried to wake Katrina up again. She couldn't spend all night out on the sofa.

Eventually she stirred and rolled over, glancing tiredly at John.

"Why are – why – why you awake?" she asked him.

"I couldn't sleep so went to get some water." John sat on the edge of the sofa, taking hold of Katrina's hands.

"Why?" She sat up.

"Because Sherlock's dead and you're locking yourself away in your room." John's lips drew into a thin line. He knew it had been none of his business, but just one word from Katrina about how she was really doing would have been enough for him to help her in any way he could.

"I know. I'm sorry." She rested her head on his shoulder, letting go of John's hand and instead wrapping her arms around him.

"Katrina..." he began, sighing, but before he could carry on, she spoke.

"Did you read my blog?"

"...Yes."

"Then you'll know why I'm locking myself in my room," she told him curtly.

"You should have said something anyway – regardless of if you refused any help from me..." John finally put his arms around Katrina, holding her as close as possible to him.

"I'm just... it's hard to keep going, I guess? I don't know how to describe it," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"You've been through trauma," he said, trying to skip over what she had been saying in her texts to Mycroft. That was really none of his business why they were even talking. "If you need to take time off work, they'll understand. If they don't believe you, they'll have me to hear from. Doctor's orders. You should be taking time off work; not throwing yourself into it just to avoid what's going on inside your head."

"The thoughts are scary, John." She sounded like a small child when saying that, and it broke his heart even further than it already had been. "I don't want to be left alone with them. It's why I just lock my door and go to sleep."

"Okay. Okay." He was absentmindedly stroking her hair now. "Listen, even if you don't want to tell me how you're feeling or you're unable to, just come and request a hug or something, yeah? Or we can watch a film or... we'll do something to keep you occupied."

"That sounds nice." Katrina sounded a little bit more like herself with that comment.

"I know it's not the _best_ time to say something like this, but Sherlock... he'd want us to keep going." He seemed to grip onto Katrina a little bit tighter after saying that, and she did the exact same. "And then probably berate us for hugging it out so much."

That earned him a little giggle, before silence encased them again.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I sleep in with you for the rest of the night?"

"Of course. Come on."

In a smooth, sweeping motion, John had stood up and was carrying Katrina through the flat and towards his room. It was an amusing sight, particularly because he was a fair bit shorter than Katrina and struggled trying to actually get her over the door of the bedroom.

"We're a right pair sometimes, aren't we?" Katrina asked him as soon as they were comfortably curled up in bed.

"_Only_ sometimes. It's nice when we do something silly together. Especially now. We need to live for the–"

"Little moments?" She sounded tired again. "Don't get deep on me, John, it's almost two in the morning and I am exhausted."

"All right, all right..."

Those were the last words said before they both fell into a slumber.

* * *

><p><strong>Been a while since I updated, but I decided I can't extend out the last legs of this story too much, so I kind of just... condensed everything down a little bit. So instead of there going to be 5 more chapters, there will be 2 or 3.<strong>

**Comment?**

**Oh - Merry Christmas!**

**-OL.**


	36. Months Four and Five

There was something that changed between the two adults residing in the central London flat.

They seemed to have a better understanding of each other and how they were dealing with grief.

John respected the fact that Katrina was in need of her own space and tried not to worry about her, although as a doctor, he felt it necessary to at least recommend for her to go to a therapist or at least get something that would help. He didn't explicitly say it, but the unspoken words between them were clear in that he thought it might help her if she went back to her doctor and talk about the possibility of taking anti-depressants.

Meanwhile Katrina noticed that John would often need a bit of physical affection, like a squeeze of the hand while they were eating breakfast, or a long hug when they decided to sit and watch a movie. She knew he was going back to his therapist, but she didn't ask about it because he had gone back really quite annoyed about it. She knew he'd been there before and had stopped going ever since he'd become friends with Sherlock.

It was quite remarkable what could happen when such a large part of one's life was gone.

Those sorts of odd thoughts often plagued Katrina at night.

She'd never actually realised how much of an impact that Sherlock had had on her, but now that he was gone it was more noticeable.

Through Sherlock, she'd met Mycroft. Yes, Mycroft had been a little weird in the fact he could find out anything he wanted about her, but he'd made her realise that being and IT Technician for the rest of her life was not going to be satisfactory for her. Even though Katrina kept on refusing the job, it was mainly down to the fact she was uncertain about working for the government.

Sherlock had given her a means to get out her anger. Katrina distinctly remembered the fact she'd not been punching any walls for quite some time, or getting snappy with people in general when she'd been living at Baker Street. Perhaps it was partially due to the fact she'd had a sociopath to tell off for several good reasons and partially due to the frustration of having to work on cases with said sociopath.

She'd met John through Sherlock – he was one of the kindest men she knew. Yes, John could get annoyed easily, but had been living with Sherlock so it was difficult not to become irritated at the best of times. Even now, he was still a bit like it. Perhaps that was just habit.

Her life had changed for the better, and then it had come all crashing down again.

There were people that had their eye on Sherlock, Moriarty being one of them. The thought of Moriarty left an unsavoury taste in her mouth and a burning desire to simply scream the house down.

As Katrina lay there in bed trying to block out the thoughts of the past, she rolled over to see what the time was. It was midnight. Today was the four month anniversary. October 12th 2011. She now found it bitterly amusing that the day Sherlock had jumped was her birthday. How tragic for her.

Sighing, Katrina switched on the lamp and sat up in bed. Deciding that doing this was necessary, she got out of bed and looked down at her attire. A pair of joggers and a tank top. That wasn't so bad. Katrina went and quietly put on a pair of shoes and shoes before creeping down the hallway and to the front door, putting on her coat and checking that her purse was there in the pocket – it was. Picking up her keys, Katrina silently slid out of the flat and began to make her way down and out to the street.

She'd lived in London long enough to not be scared of it at night time anymore.

There were shops that were still open at times like this – those ridiculous twenty four hour ones, but for once that was useful to her.

Katrina stepped into the first one she found and went to buy a small bunch of flowers. She was certain that the person behind the till gave her the most sympathetic look ever.

"Who're they for?" the lady asked her quietly. Katrina jumped, not expecting her to speak.

"A friend. He..." Katrina paused a moment as she took her change and the flowers. "You probably saw it on the news a few months ago..." with those muttered words, Katrina fled from the shop before the woman could say anything else.

For some reason, she didn't stop running until she could feel her legs beginning to waver and the throbbing behind her ears. Until she could feel her heart hammering so hard that she couldn't carry on running any more. That was when she collapsed onto the pavement breathing heavily and clutching the flowers ever so tightly in her shaking fingers.

She'd come pretty far. She was certain that she was almost at the graveyard, now. There wasn't much further to go.

After recovering for a good few minutes, Katrina rose from the ground, dusted herself off and carried on walking.

It felt as if she had ben doing that several times in the past few months. It was unfair that she had to dust herself off on her own. Even though John was there for her, she couldn't let him dust her off fully.

Eventually, Katrina found herself holding her head high as she made her way in through the gate of the graveyard. It was really dark now, and almost one o'clock in the morning, going by the nearby church clock.

Her steps were deliberate in finding their way towards where she needed to be, but she was there sooner than she wanted.

All the same, the golden letters on the black marble headstone were a welcome glow in the near pitch black.

Placing the flowers at the base of the headstone, Katrina then sat down in front of them.

Silence.

That was all that was needed for the time being. She just needed a peaceful silence.

* * *

><p>"<em>Why are you doing this?"<em>

"It's the first time she's done this."

"_How did you find out?"_

"She's randomly out of bed and so I tracked her movements."

"_Of course you did..."_

"So?"

"_So what?"_

"You're back in England for the time being. I know that much because you picked up rather quickly. You're also awful at disguises and I do have access to all security cameras. How do you think I found Miss Jenkins so quickly?"

"_I'm actually in London anyway. There was something left unfinished. I've dealt with that now."_

"Anything I need to know about?"

"_What I am personally doing does not concern you that much. However one of your MI5 agents is dead. Not by my hand, of course, but we were apparently on the same mission. I managed to find the man who killed him. He's been disposed of."_

"Thank you. Now: are you going to go?"

"_I'll be there in half an hour."_

The phone line went dead and Mycroft smirked from behind his desk.

Sometimes, having to work late because of certain delegates being in a different time zone came in useful for personal business.

* * *

><p>The silence just wasn't working anymore.<p>

It hadn't stopped tears from streaming down Katrina's face.

Instead, she simply started talking.

"This is... I couldn't sleep, so I just sort of came here instead..."

It wasn't so much talking as the beginnings of a long, rambly confession of sorts.

"I wish you hadn't have jumped – John wishes it too, probably. I don't know, we've not really spoken about it explicitly..." she sighed, wiping away the tear tracks on her face. "It's been four months and they've not been great, really. Obviously... I mean, the day you jumped was actually my birthday. So fucking happy birthday to me, then, in terms of that. I turned thirty and you jumped off a roof. Brilliant.

"I really, really wish you weren't dead. I wish you were here. I want you to give me some snarky comment about how pathetic I'm being, and then I'd probably shout at you and muck up your laptop and then we'd avoid each other for a day and we'd resolve the issue by making each other cups of tea. Why can't it have just stayed like that? It's so unfair. If it had been like that, I wouldn't be sitting here fucking talking a marble headstone in the middle of the night and freezing my arse off. I'd be curled up in bed happily asleep.

"Ah, sleep. That's not too much of a natural thing for me anymore. I mean, sometimes I can sleep for hours on end, or I might just not sleep at all. I sometimes think about how much my life changed after meeting you, and I sometimes think about what the hell am I doing still living with John?" Katrina was shocked at herself for saying that. "Okay... that's a completely different can of worms that I should probably address at some point soon... Maybe it's bad for me to be living with him, because I don't seem to be making many improvements but he's sort of... well, he's beginning to get on with it more than I am.

"I don't know. I don't know why I'm saying all this. It's not as if you're here. Besides, I pretty much ran halfway here and all my thoughts are a bit... foggy. They're not right. Nothing's right. This is just – not a mistake, but definitely not something I should have done in the middle of the night."

Katrina didn't have anything else to say after that. There was nothing else she could possibly say.

So she curled up as close to the headstone as she could and soon enough she fell into a slumber, completely undisturbed by anything that was going on around her.

That was lucky, because of the fact that a tall, looming figure approached her and crouched down next to her. If she had been awake, she would have taken a good thirty seconds to recognise him, because his hair had grown and he had a few battle scars streaking his face.

He sighed, and gently stroked Katrina's hair.

"Unfortunately, I don't have the snarky comment you want," Sherlock murmured quietly. "Clearly, it does nothing for you or me for you to be in this state, so I truly do hope you can drag yourself out of it. Please do. Do it for yourself. Can't have the best hacker in London falling into a black hole, can we?"

With those final words, Sherlock took the flowers she had placed at his headstone and made his merry way out of the graveyard.

It had been dangerous, but worth it.

* * *

><p>"What the–? Mycroft?!" John was not happy when he answered the door the following morning to see a tired Katrina with an equally unhappy Mycroft behind her.<p>

"I suggest you check she's in bed, next time. I'd rather not have the police have to find her again."

John roughly took Katrina by the arm and pulled her into the flat. Just as he was about to slam the door, he glanced back to Mycroft.

"Thanks, I guess."

"I'm not her babysitter, please remember that." Mycroft rolled his eyes and sauntered off, meaning that John could finally slam the door.

"Where were you?" His voice was low.

"Graveyard," was all Katrina responded before making her way towards the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Something very bizarre happened a few weeks later.<p>

The pair had treated themselves to a dinner out in the heart of London. They'd both felt that they actually really needed it – they needed to let go for a little while and just do something that made them feel happy, even if that happiness were going to be brief (however they sincerely hoped it would not be brief).

The evening had involved a lot of wine, and perhaps some other alcoholic drinks.

Proper conversation and then turned to fits of giggles and trying to support one another while walking down the street as they tried to hail a cab so they could get home safely.

Once back at the flat, the giggling turned into fits of laughter.

Neither of them really remember how it happened, but clothes came off and there was a lot of kissing and moaning and all the rest of it.

Both hungover and naked in Katrina's bed the next morning, John turned over to see the sleeping woman next to him and it barely registered, until he prodded her in the arm to wake her up.

There was some initial shock at first when the both realised what had happened and they tried apologising to each other before Katrina eventually saw sense and shut the pair of them up.

"Fuck it," she said, and leaned back over to kiss him on the lips.

* * *

><p><strong>Next chapter is the last chapter of this story, then we can move onto the second one! I know this one was short, but the final chapter will hopefully be about double the length.<strong>

**Also yes I realise I am a cruel person with what I did. The next story does elaborate even more on why Sherlock had to come back to London (it happens a few times more).**

**Review?**

**-OL.**


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